


The Power Behind The Throne

by Rose_the_Hat



Series: October Rust [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, Mob Boss Jensen Ackles, Organized Crime, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_the_Hat/pseuds/Rose_the_Hat
Summary: In which Jensen is a powerful mob boss and Jared is his Enforcer…and so much more.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: October Rust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938799
Comments: 43
Kudos: 200





	1. Blood and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of reading too many M/M mafia romances and listening to too much Type O Negative. Apologies in advance for all the Type O references and for putting the late great Peter Steele in this but I couldn’t resist. 
> 
> Beta’d by 
> 
> ***This story is complete in 5 parts and will be updated daily or however fast I can get my formatting correct***

Part 1 – Blood and Fire

It only takes seconds after emerging from unconsciousness for Jensen Ackles to realize he is in dire trouble. The fact that his lover for the past fifteen years, Jared Padalecki, is not next to him tells him this.

His head is pounding as if a cannon is being fired inside his skull. His mouth might as well be stuffed with cotton and his throat feels swollen. He takes a quick personal inventory. He’s obviously been knocked out, drugged, is his best guess going by the hangover-like symptoms he’s experiencing. Jensen does not partake of illicit drugs nor drink to excess. His next realization is that he is naked. If Jared were next to him this wouldn’t be an issue. He’s not in a bed. The rough surface under his cheek informs him he’s on some kind of concrete surface. 

_What the fuck is going on? Where am I?_

He breathes in and smells dank and wet though the surface he is on feels dry.

_Underground somewhere, he surmises. A basement?_

He lies as he is, lax and keeping his breathing even, listening. There seems to be no ambient sound. 

_Soundproofing? Insulation?_

He slowly opens his eyes. Impenetrable blackness greets him. His heart, which had been starting to slip into a more easy rhythm, ratchets back up. He can’t see. 

_Have I been blinded?_

He presses his fingertips to his eyes feeling for damage, but feels only his lashes, eyelids, and the shape of his intact eyeballs beneath them. 

However bad he had thought his situation was, he was beginning to understand it was worse. How much worse, he cannot guess. Gears click and whirr in his mind, putting it together. He’s been kidnapped and is being held somewhere. 

_Who could be responsible for this? The Italians?_ Jensen dismisses the idea. Italians have a way of doing things, steeped in tradition from the Old country. This definitely isn’t that. Apart from that, his Organization and the Italians have an easy peace between them going back decades. They don’t infringe on each other’s territory. They give respect and receive it in return. 

Some rogue mobster wannabe then? If this is the work of an amateur or a rogue that makes shit hard to predict. 

_What’s the last thing I remember?_

He searches his mind for what he remembers before he woke up wherever the hell he is. 

_Jared and I were on a date._

They had been chowing down on some good barbecue at a little joint that launders money for the Organization. Then Jensen had said he wanted to hear some Bob Seger. Jared got up to feed the juke some coins and Jensen went to piss. _Night Moves_ had started to play as he went into the Mens. 

_Then_ … He can’t recall anything after shaking off and tucking away his cock.

Whoever took him was lying in wait in that bathroom. Waiting for the one time Jensen would be alone. Well, Jared might have come in with him for a quick handjob or blowjob but he hadn’t.

Or had he? Is it possible _Jared_ is responsible for this? _No. No goddamn way_. Jensen is disgusted with himself for even allowing that thought to enter his mind. There is no one else on this whole godforsaken plant he trusts more than Jared Padalecki. 

Whoever had him knew his movements and routines. They knew that he went out to dinner, his most trusted Enforcer in tow, a couple of times a month, usually to an upscale restaurant where abducting him would have been harder. They had waited patiently for Jensen to go to a more casual restaurant before they struck. 

While Jensen was a public figure—a multi-millionaire philanthropist as well as an oil and tech mogul, and it was whispered in certain circles that he was the leader of an organized crime syndicate— this could hardly be the work of a stalker. 

Eliminating the Italians and a stalker, that would leave someone in his own Organization. Who? Who would have the audacity the fucking _balls_ to fucking do this? Not only to do it, but the sheer hubris to think they will _get away_ with it?

Anger pulses through him. He’s naked, blind, trapped in a pit, and fucking _helpless_. He wants to rail and scream curses at his unseen enemy, but he can’t. Helpless he might be, but he will not show weakness. He has to remain in control of himself. It had been one of the first lessons he had learned. 

_Jensen was sixteen when his father first called him into his office. He pushed the solid oak door open and stepped across the threshold. His father’s blond hair, not as pure gold as Jensen’s own, was turning to a fashionable iron grey and was pushed back from his forehead. Square of jaw and with a forbidding manner, “Iron” Alan Ackles sat behind his large and imposing walnut desk. Jensen took in his father and wondered if he would ever be like that. He always felt clumsy these days and very—not stupid, because his grades were always aces—but ignorant. There was so much he didn’t know, but he wanted to learn._

_“Yes, sir?” Jensen said, closing the door behind him._

_His father didn’t immediately say anything. Rather, he examined Jensen, seeming to x-ray him. Jensen felt very lacking. While his last growth spurt had brought him to six feet in height, he was scrawny, delicate even. He wasn’t really popular at school, but people didn’t step to him. Even the bullies didn’t want to mess with the son of Alan Ackles._

_“How are you doing, son?”_

_Jensen shrugged. “I’m good, Dad.”_

_Another lengthy pause. Jensen stood still. He couldn’t fidget or show any kind of weakness. He was being tested. He knew what this was about, had been looking forward to it more than getting his license or a car._

_“You know what we do. You’re my only son. My heir. It’s only right you take over after I’m gone. Or decide to retire. But to do that, you need to learn. You think you’re ready?”_

_Jensen’s heart gave a joyous leap but he kept his face blank. He has spent years watching his father, how he is always calm and in control, even when it felt as if the world was coming down. It’s hard for Jensen to emulate that while in the throes of puberty, but he was determined to show his father that he can. He inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”_

_So Jensen’s education in organized crime began. His father started him at the bottom of the totem. That was how Alan had learned and felt Jensen couldn’t run the business without knowing all aspects of it. For the rest of his high school career it was known that if you wanted some really good shit for a party you went to Jensen Ackles. His goods were pricey but always primo and because of that he cultivated a nice customer base._

_In college it was more of the same. His father added collecting from bookies and pimps to his list of duties and occasionally roughing up those that didn’t pay on time. While Jensen was still lithe he had begun to fill out, he had grown another inch in height and his chest and shoulders were increasingly broad. Jensen also amassed a small, but loyal, group of friends. He dubbed them his Inner Circle and brought them into the Organization. Steve Carlson, nicknamed Stevie Guitar. He had flunked out of UTD because he cared more about playing his music than being a draftsman. Tom Welling was a tall handsome man with wavy black hair and intense blue eyes, thus earning him the nickname Tommy Blue. Jason Manns, nicknamed Lazy Jase because of his easygoing laid back manner. Rounding out the group was Christian Short. He was indeed lacking in height and resented the fuck out of it. He called himself Chris Cain because he liked to raise Cain; he was a contrary bastard, so he spelled it K-A-N-E. It had been Kane who had inadvertently given Jensen a nickname of his own: Pretty Jenny. Kane had said it flippantly, but like ink in water once spilled it could never be called back. Jensen knocked out three of Kane’s teeth and dislocated his jaw for it. Because they were friends, Jensen paid for Kane’s dental work. Kane never used the name again, nor did anyone in Jensen’s Inner Circle, but, still the name spread and, worse, it stuck. Jensen never did forgive Kane for that._

_“Pretty” though he may be, Jensen wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He beat the shit out of those he had to; he helped clean-up crews dispose of bodies, and assisted in interrogations. The first time he killed he was nineteen. He had been making the rounds, collecting from the prostitution rings and escort services. But over the course of four months Jensen began to realize that the numbers didn’t add up. A little digging and some interrogation later revealed the madam of the escort service was skimming from the take. She tried to finesse and cajole him, but Jensen could not be fooled. He shot her twice, with a silencer on his .38, and took the missing money. He thought he would feel more guilt about taking a life. But he didn’t. He’d done what he had to. She was taking what belonged to him and his Organization and had to be eliminated. Alan had allowed Jensen to install a new madam in the house and oversee the prostitution rackets. It was his first real promotion and he was damn proud._

_The year before Jensen was set to graduate UTD Alan called him into his office again. Once again Jensen knew what it was about, only this time he was not eager for the conversation. Between his sophomore and junior year Jensen met a man named Sterling Brown and fell ass over tea kettle in love with him. While he had had crushes and cases of puppy love, he had never before been In Love. He was not sure how his father would feel about having a gay son and eventually leaving his Organization to that gay son. Jensen knew if he had to choose between Sterling and the Organization, he would choose the Organization though doing do would break his heart._

_“Come in, son,” Alan responded to Jensen’s knock._

_Jensen was twenty-one but he always felt like that trembling boy of sixteen whenever he entered his father’s inner sanctum._

_“Hey, Dad.”_

_Alan stood and Jensen took his father’s measure, noticing how the grey had overtaken the blond of his hair and how heavily lined his face had become. Alan was getting old and it scared Jensen._

_His father clapped him on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It surprised Jensen, given what he knew this conversation must be about. “Been too long,” Alan said._

_Jensen returned his father’s embrace, feeling his heart clench. He has been so caught up in managing his parts of the business, keeping up with his schooling, hanging out with friends, and being with Sterling that time for his father has fallen by the wayside. He felt vaguely ashamed. “Yeah. It has.”_

_Alan released Jensen and returned to his customary place behind his desk. He folded his hands together and pinned Jensen with a stern but sympathetic gaze. “Don’t feel too badly, Jensen. You’re a young man, leading your own life. It’s the way of things.”_

_Hearing his father say that eased some of the guilt, but he was still filled with tension for what he knew was coming, the real reason for his summoning. Sterling had offered to come with Jensen for support but Jensen refused._

_“I want to talk to you about the young man you’re involved with.”_

_Jensen swallowed and tried to keep his poker face firmly in place._ Stay in control _, he chided himself. He had to stay in control. That lesson had been drilled into him from the time he was sixteen. His stomach was twisting in on itself. He felt nervous sweat starting to break out in his pits. He hadn’t made a secret of his sexuality but he wasn’t waving a rainbow flag either. Who he loved and fucked was his business and Jensen was raised to keep his business to himself. Keep it under control._

_“I don’t care about you being a homosexual, son.”_

_Jensen relaxed a fraction. He knew there was a ‘but’ coming._

_“But others will,” Alan added, gravely. “And I don’t mean the world at large. I mean others in our business. It has a deep culture, Jensen, as I’m sure you’re aware. Very masculine. Very macho. While I don’t care, and I’m sure your circle of friends don’t care, others we do business with and rivals will. They will try to use it against you, say you are weak, or less than because you prefer gentlemen instead of ladies. They will try to undermine you, chip away at your authority, and influence.”_

_“You saying I should beard?” Alan looked puzzled so Jensen explained. “A shield. A woman to date, and be seen with.”_

_Alan waved a dismissive hand. “I’m saying no such thing. You shouldn’t be anything other than what you are. I’m just telling you to be aware. Also know that any man you become involved with also becomes involved in our world. You unintentionally put a target on them. Others may try to use them to get to you, or me. You know that is why your mother prefers to live abroad. Make sure the man you choose understands what he’s getting involved in.”_

_As it turned out Sterling didn’t know and when he did wanted no part of Jensen. So, Jensen suffered his first true heartbreak. He would make sure the next man he became involved with knew the score._

Jensen is pulled back from his early days to his current predicament by bright light flooding down from directly above him. He slams his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them back open. He needs any information about where he is and who has him. He isn’t going to get it with his eyes closed. He raises a hand in an attempt to block out some of the light while his eyes adjust. Through half-closed eyes Jensen takes in his surroundings. He’s in some kind of cement pit, probably twelve or fifteen feet deep, and the walls are smooth, meaning it’s too high for him to jump and attempt to scratch and claw his way out. Not that it would matter. The next thing Jensen notices is a heavy barred trapdoor across the opening of his subterranean cell. 

The hinges of the trapdoor creak and all Jensen can make out is a hulking outline of a man before an empty five gallon paint bucket is tossed down to him. It glances off Jensen’s forehead before hitting the floor. The trapdoor is slammed shut and there is the heavy click of a lock before the light vanishes, leaving Jensen once more in total darkness. 

Jensen knows enough about prison—not from personal experience, the Organization’s attorney, Julian Richings, is far too skilled to have ever allowed him to get locked up—to know what the purpose of the bucket is. A bathroom. Meaning whoever has him plans on keeping him for a while. Jensen sits back against the wall of the pit, legs stretched out and crossing his feet at the ankles. It’s a waiting game. That’s okay. He can wait. Eventually his captor will show himself—or herself, Jensen supposes. 

Or….

In the dark, an almost sinister smile splits Jensen’s lips. _Or Jared finds me_. Crossing his arms across his broad chest, Jensen’s grin widens. Whoever has him will rue the day they planned this foolish enterprise. Jensen can only distantly imagine what unholy vengeance Jared will rain down on them. He’s almost eager for it, not only because it means he’ll be free, but because Jared doing his thing is really fucking hot. 

Almost from the very beginning it seems Jared has always been there for him. Jared will come, Jensen reflects, and he won’t come alone. 

_Alan died of a heart attack when Jensen was twenty-four. By that time he had handed over most of the reigns of his business’, both legal and illegal, to Jensen. While he gained a reputation as a shrewd businessman, reserved and stoic, he was still haunted by that Pretty Jenny nickname and at times found it hard to be taken seriously. His frame had filled out in muscle but his face was still too feminine; wide eyes too guileless and his full mouth garnered all the wrong attention._

_He cultivated a favorable public image with his many philanthropic enterprises. Jensen founded the Ackles Art Endowment, which pretty much kept the local PBS stations on the air, the Ackles Scholarship Foundation, which awarded full academic scholarships to teens from low income areas, and The Ackles Disaster Relief Grant, which gave funds to those who were affected by the tornadoes that often devastated Texas. As much as Jensen liked the good PR, those endeavors were great tax write offs. He invested in a few start-up tech companies that went on to yield healthy profits. Jensen felt that the many and diverse legitimate businesses provided a better screen for their illegal activities. He had just been named Dallas’ Most Eligible Bachelor for the first time when he met the love of his life, Jared Padalecki._

_Jensen had been hearing his guys talk about a couple of guys nicknamed Big ‘n Little for a couple of months now. First time he had heard them mentioned had been from Kane and his East side crew. Big ‘n Little had been working on the loading dock at Transportation Solutions, one of Jensen’s legitimate businesses that he used for illegal purposes, or shaking down people that owed money. Since Big ‘n Little joined Kane’s crew the payments poured in at a steady pace and usually in full. That made Jensen very happy so when Big ‘n Little requested a face-to-face with him he was more than amenable._

_As the two men entered his office it was obvious the nicknames Big ‘n Little were something of a joke. Both men were very tall. Big stood a towering six foot seven inches tall; Little probably topping out at six foot four. Big’s jet black hair hung way past his massive shoulders. His heavy dark brows framed brooding grey-green eyes. He was dressed simply in black jeans and faded olive green t-shirt. Jensen estimated his age to be somewhere around his late twenties or very early thirties._

_Jensen’s gaze moved from Big to his companion, Little. He was similarly dressed in loose fitting ripped and faded jeans and white t-shirt. He appeared several years younger than the other man, going by his boyish features. When Jensen met his eyes an electric charge zipped through him followed by a rush of heat and desire he hadn’t ever felt before. He guessed Little felt it as well judging by the slight uptick of brow and the tiniest hint of a smirk._

_Putting his best poker face firmly in place Jensen rose from behind his desk to greet his visitors. “Gentlemen. What are your names? Or what do you want me to call you?”_

_Little spoke first in a smooth baritone. “I’m Jay,” he indicated himself. Then, he hooked a thumb over to Big. “He’s Petey.”_

_“Petrus Ratajczyk and Jared Padalecki, sir,” Big, or rather Petrus said in a basso voice so low it was practically felt more than heard._

_“Those names are a mouthful.”_

_Jared’s cat-like eyes flashed predatory for an instant. “They’re Polish descent.”_

_“A little Russian, too, in my case,” Petrus added with a shrug. Jensen detected a northern accent of some kind but he couldn’t place it._

_Jensen shook each man’s hand, that frisson of desire pulsed through him again when he took Jared’s. “Have a seat and tell me why you wanted to meet with me.” He motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk. The two men waited until Jensen was seated before sitting themselves. Respectful. Jensen liked that very much. “I’ll assume it must be highly confidential or you would have gone to Kane with it.”_

_Both men’s faces were stony and serious now that they were getting down to business. “Yes, sir. It ain’t that we don’t trust Kane, but he always has a lotta eyes and eaahs around ‘im,” Petrus said speaking with a heavy New York accent._

_“It’s them we don’t trust,” Jared chimed in. “Most of the guys don’t pay attention to Petey and me. They think we’re all muscle and no brains so we hear things. Not good things.”_

_Jensen’s interest was instantly piqued. “And those things would be?” He prompted._

_The two men exchanged glances, obviously silently communicating. Jensen wondered what the relationship was between them. They were at complete ease with each other in a way that spoke of years of friendship._ More than friends? _Jensen wondered and a stab of jealousy pierced him._

_“On the surface it sounds like the usual shit-talk anybody does about their boss,” Jared began. Where Petrus had a New York accent Jared’s was pure Texas. “They call you pretty or,” his eyes darted around and there was a subtle bloom of color in his cheeks._

_“They say you’re a fag,” Petrus said blithely. “That you may act like your fatha but you ain’t nuthin’ like ‘im.”_

_Jensen clenched his jaw so hard he thought he heard a back tooth crack. It’s not being called a gay slur that bothered him; it’s the intimation that he is not the man his father was because of Jensen’s looks and sexuality._

_Jared continued. “They say you care too much about your do-gooder public image to really keep an eye on everything,” He paused for a second before lowering the boom. “They’re talking about going into business for themselves.”_

_Jensen swallowed down the white-hot anger. No, he can’t have eyes everywhere which is why his closest most loyal friends are in places of high power. Anything that happens under them will get back to Jensen and justice will be swiftly meted out._

_Jensen leaned back in his chair, resting his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He observed each man more carefully, pondering what Jared said about how others in his Organization perceive them. There was indeed a lot more to these two than just size, Jensen thought. Jensen surmised people see Petrus’ size, heard his accent, and assumed him to be a stereotypical dumb palooka. To Jensen he seemed straightforward and pensive. People might look at Jared and see an immature boy, but Jensen sees eyes that are too old for such a young face. He saw cleverness and cunning as well. Alan taught Jensen to see beyond the surface and under the surface of these two he saw hungry, intelligent, loyal men._

_“Why come to me with this?” He finally asked. “You’re new to the Organization. Why not throw in with these talkers? Try to get while the gettin’s good?”_

_Jared shrugged a shoulder. “Kane talks about you; says you like loyalty. Petey n’ me have had it rough for a lotta years. I figure we get in good with you we’ll have it a lot better.”_

_Jensen nodded. Honesty, a quality he appreciates. A quality usually found in his Inner Circle men. Could he be looking at two new members? “Do you know the names of any of the men doing the talking?”_

_“We’re still kinda new so we ain’t too good on names,” Petrus said. “But a couple of the guys deal with the trucks.”_

_“Ty Olsson?” Jensen inquired, sitting up. “Forty-ish? Not as tall as me? Not too heavy but not thin? Short brown hair? Scruff? He’d be the head of the trucking operations,” Jensen supplied._

_“That sounds like him,” Jared nodded._

_“Do you know who his accomplice is?” Jensen asked._

_“Not by name,” Petrus said. “He’s older. Got alotta wavy haiah with a thick beahd,” Petrus added. “Going kinda grey.”_

_“Tim Omundson.” He was head of the gun running operations and since the trucks were used to run the guns, naturally, they would need to work together._

_“That guy with the fuckin’ ugly crescent moon face,” Jared said breaking into Jensen’s thoughts._

_“Ritchie the Chin.” Richard Speight Jr. who worked overseeing the chop shops._

_“Those fences who deal with the pawnshops are running their mouths, too.”_

_“Freddy Lehne and Mark Pellegrino. That all of them?” Jensen asked. Shit. He had five potential traitors high up in his Organization. Ty and Tim had started working under Alan when Jensen was fifteen. Maybe it should surprise Jensen that men who followed his father don’t seem as willing to follow him._

_“Yeah. What do you want us to do? Kill ‘em?” Jared asked and Jensen detected an eager light in the young man’s eyes._

_Petrus rolled his eyes at Jared’s comment, and hit him with the toe of one heavy-looking boot._

_Jensen revised his opinion of the younger man. Clever and sly, but maybe a little dangerous. That made for one hell of a combination. If Jensen could earn his loyalty he had no doubt he’d have a soldier who’d go to the ends of the earth for him. Given what they just told him he needed men like that._

_“No,” Jensen answered. “Keep doing what you’ve been doing: watching and listening. However, if the talk becomes more than idle bullshit I want you to come to me.” Jensen grabbed a slip of paper and wrote down his private phone number. He stood and pulled out his money clip. He peeled off five one-hundred dollar bills for each man, tucking his phone number into the bills he intended for Jared. He came from behind his desk, and extended a hand to Petrus._

_“Will do, sir,” Petrus said, shaking Jensen’s hand and taking the folded bills, briefly looking at them, before tucking them into his jeans pocket._

_“Thanks for seeing us, Boss Man,” Jared said shaking Jensen’s hand. If he noticed the slip of paper he gave nothing away._

_Two and a half weeks later, Jensen was in the sitting room of his bedroom, seated in a heavy wingback chair, enjoying a late breakfast of buttery croissants, crispy bacon, and black coffee. He’d been staring at the same article in the Wall Street Journal for the last half hour, not really taking in anything. His mind kept returning to Jared Padalecki, as it had been doing since Jensen met the man. He hadn’t expected him to call the night he gave Jared the phone number but he had expected him to call soon after. Jensen felt like a preteen girl waiting for her crush to call; he felt stupid. Maybe he had misjudged the young man’s interest. Jensen knew he’s a good-looking dude, maybe that was as far as Jared’s interest in him went. He sighed, folded his copy of the Wall Street Journal and tossed it down on the table beside him, and gazed out the wide bay window at the flowers and fountains in the back garden._

_Without knocking Kane and Stevie Guitar charged in. Jensen was instantly alert, no one came into his personal quarters without permission and certainly not without knocking. He pushed to his feet, noting the tense set of each man’s face._

_“We got a problem, Jensen,” Kane said. Jensen’s gut clenched._ Jared _. He has no idea why his first thought was of Jared but it was. Maybe the reason Jared hasn’t called was that Ty and his co-conspirators found out about Jared and Petrus informing on them. Maybe Ty got rid of them._

_“What?”_

_“There was an 18-wheeler of ours hijacked earlier today. It was carrying a load of AKs and AR 15s,” Stevie Guitar said._

_While Jared and Petrus hadn’t exactly named Ty, they had mentioned the “guy who works with trucks” Ty had a crew of five guys under him so it could be any or all of them. He had no doubt that Ty and Omundson were the root of it all. Maybe Jensen should have just let Jared kill them._

_“Shit. We got a tracker on it, right? Have Aldis get on figuring out where the fuck it is and get a crew together to take it back.”_

_“We contacted Aldis as soon as we got word the shipment went AWOL. He said the tracker was either removed or disabled. He can’t find it.”_

_Jensen breathed out. Fuck. Ty knew the trucks in and out of course he would remove the fucking tracker. Jensen knew one thing, that motherfucker was as good as dead. “How long since the truck’s last location?”_

_“Two hours since the last checkpoint.”_

_“Round up anyone from Olsson’s crew and bring them to The Ranch for interrogation. Now!”_

_Kane and Stevie Guitar gave stiff nods before quickly departing._

_Thirty minutes later Jensen’s phone rang with a call from an unknown number. Thinking it could be Ty or the hijacker he took a deep breath before he answered. “Who is this?” Jensen growled._

_“Hey,” a cheery voice answered, he couldn’t place it but it is familiar. “So, do you know where this truck is supposed to be going? This is Jared Padalecki, by the way.”_

_An icy dart of betrayal pierced Jensen’s heart. Jared?_ Jared’s _the hijacker? Jensen had sensed cunning in him but hadn’t thought he would do something like this. Had he and Petrus tried to implicate Ty only to throw Jensen off their scent?_

_“Jared, what the fuck are you doing? What’s going on? Did you hijack the truck?”_

_“Um…kinda?” Jared said sounding sheepish. “Does it count if we hijacked it from the hijackers?”_

_“What?” Jensen was totally lost._

_A moment later Kane barreled into his room again. “Jensen, Aldis says the tracker is online again. The truck is on 75 heading north.”_

_Jensen held out a palm for him to shut up. “Jared, explain what is going on?” Kane’s brow furrowed in confusion._

_“Petey and I heard Grey Beard talking to some other guys about taking a truck. We took it back. So where are we supposed to be going?”_

_“Are you driving the truck?”_

_“Hell, no. There’s a lot of buttons and knobs up here. I don’t know what the fuck they do. But Petey is handling it okay.” He sounded so young and exceedingly proud of himself._

_“What are you telling me, Jared? That you two killed Ty and his guys and took back the truck?”_

_“Yep. It was easy. He wasn’t too bright.”_

_Jensen dragged a hand down his face. “And the shipment is intact?”_

_“Seems to be. Six crates. Three with AK-47’s and three with AR-9’s.”_

_“Jensen,” Stevie Guitar rushed in, long blond hair awry. Jensen threw him a glare to silence him._

_“You and Petrus are to deliver that load to the buyer, alright?” Jensen rattled off the rendezvous point for the exchange. “Tell them I’m knocking fifteen grand off their purchase price because of lateness and assure them it will never happen again. Then get your asses to the compound, understand? I want a full goddamned report on everything.”_

_“Sir, yes, Sir,” Jared said sounding positively chipper._

_Jensen hung up, both pissed and impressed two guys were able to formulate and execute a plan to thwart a hijacking on little notice. He turned to Stevie Guitar. “What?” He snapped._

_“A couple of my guys found the bodies of Ty Olsson, Tim Omundson, Seb the Frenchman, and Robbie Benedict. Seb and Robbie’s necks were broken but Ty and Tim were shot. The word TRAITOR was carved across their foreheads. Jensen, what the hell is going on?”_

_Traitor, eh? Jensen thought with a certain amount of satisfaction. It seemed his assessment of Jared and Petrus being extremely intelligent and loyal was spot on. “Nothing,” he answered. “There was a little hiccup but it’s been sorted out. Have your guys get rid of those bodies. Now, both of you get the fuck out of my room.”_

In his pit, Jensen sighs, shakes his head. Fucking Jared. Only his man would think retaking a hijacked shipment of high-powered weapons was a grand romantic gesture. It wouldn’t be the last time Jared made such an overture.


	2. 2 - World Coming Down

2- World Coming Down

The pit is flooded with light. Jensen winces, slams his eyes shut, and ducks his head down. As before, he forces his eyes open. He doesn’t know how long he’s been down here. He’s getting hungry and thirsty. Keeping his voice calm and even he calls up. “Hey, up there. Want to introduce yourself? Obviously, you wanted my attention. You have it now. Come out and let’s talk some business.”

No response. Jensen hadn’t been expecting one to be honest. He’s played this game himself a time or two back when he used to interrogate people. He recoils when something is tossed down to him. He reaches out to catch it. The object bounces off his cupped hands and hits the floor. A moment before the trapdoor is closed and the overhead lamp goes out Jensen can see his captor had thrown down an eight ounce bottle of water. “I appreciate the hospitality,” Jensen says with sardonic joviality. 

Holding the bottle of water makes his thirst rage. He feels around the mouth and lid of the plastic bottle. The seal seems to be intact. He breathes for a few seconds, trying to get the thirst under control, but it feels like a living thing crawling around in his throat. He cracks open the bottle and takes a few measured sips; just enough to moisten and refresh his mouth. He forces himself to put the lid back on and put the bottle as far away from himself as he can. 

_How big is this place anyway?_ He wonders idly. Shrugging he stands, sighing at the stretch and pull of his muscles. He shakes his legs out and rolls his shoulders. That feels a little better. He had been sitting too long and his muscles were starting to stiffen up. He’s not as young as he used to be, he thinks wryly. Gone is the lithe pretty twink and in his place is a man nearing forty, tall and broad shouldered, face showing the first lines of age, not unattractive, but giving him a more seasoned look; his dark blond hair beginning to show the first threads of grey at his temples. A very handsome countenance. No longer “pretty”. Jensen walks back and forth, guessing his prison is somewhere around ten feet wide. No, definitely not pretty. Pretty Jenny died and it was Jared and Petrus that helped kill him. 

_After the attempted hijacking, Jensen gave Petrus and Jared a thorough dressing down. He didn’t rant and rave about them—though Jensen feels the onus is mostly on Jared—circumventing his authority. They took their scolding manfully. However, Jared’s eyes sparkled with a little too much humor and maybe a little something else, too. That something else had Jensen’s dick wanting to stand up._

_Before he dismissed them he handed them each six hundred dollars. Petrus gave a soft word of thanks and left. Jared, however, had different parting words._

_“I can’t feel bad about it,” Jared said, eyes raking across Jensen’s body like a physical touch. Christ, he wished it were. “Got your attention,” Jared whispered, smirking. He leaned in close, smelling of good cologne mixed with his own masculine scent. Jensen inhaled deeply; he wanted to get closer, bury his face in the crook of Jared’s neck, and lick. “That’s really all I wanted to do.” He winked at Jensen and sauntered out of his office._

_Jensen put Petrus and Jared to work gathering information on a couple of different crews. Petrus in the chop shops because he had knowledge of cars, and Jared with the fences because he had an eye for luxury goods. Even if he was from the streets, Jared had an eye and taste for fine things. Jensen wanted to give them to him. It was a couple of months before they got back to him with troubling news. As it turned out the hijacking was a symptom of a problem that was gaining traction throughout the Organization._

_“Gentlemen,” Jensen greeted welcoming them into his office. He took their measure again. It seemed that the past four months of steady meals and excellent pay had done well for them. Both had put on weight not appearing nearly so gaunt in the face. Their clothes, while not designer like Jensen would wear, fit them well. Petrus was simply dressed in black jeans and button up shirt. Jared seemed to have a panache for clothing, wearing black slacks, shirt and blazer, with a ruby tie. A fedora with a deep red band was tipped mysteriously over one eye; he made Jensen think of Humphrey Bogart._

_Petrus nudged Jared with an elbow. “Take off ya hat.”_

_Jared, with the hat to block Petrus from seeing it, gave Jensen a sexy wink, before removing it._

_“What have you learned?” Jensen asked, getting right down to business._

_They took seats in front of his desk and waited for Jensen to be seated behind it before beginning their report._

_“I been workin’ at the chop shops like ya told me,” Petrus began. “And noticed some of the paahts ain’t what they should be.”_

_“Meaning?” Jensen prompted._

_“Ritchie is cheatin’ on prices. He takes paahts from a Ford or Chevy and when he goes to sell ‘em he says they’re from a Benz or BMW.”_

_“Yeah, something similar is going on with the pawnshops,” Jared added. “Freddy and Mark are taking any lux goods coming through the shops and selling them to a third party then passing off fakes at premium prices. They’re good fakes, but still fakes.”_

_Those bastards. Jensen was very good to his employees and they still had their hands in his fucking pockets. More than that these assholes switching premium merch with cheap was going to damage this Organization’s reputation. That wasn’t something you could put a price tag on and once it was damaged, couldn’t be easily repaired._

_“Do either of you know how long this has been going on, not that it matters it needs to stop, but I need all the information I can get before I act.”_

_“We been working the rackets for five months now,” Jared said. “Seems like it coulda been going on at least that long.”_

_“That attempted hijacking seems to have been a catalyst. Before that it was all talk.”_

_“You’d think Ty, Tim, Seb, and Robbie’s deaths would have sent a message to them,” Jensen mused._

_“Maybe you need to send a stronger message,” Jared said, a cunning smile and dangerous light flashed in his eyes. “Make a stronger impression._

_“They been gettin’ away with it so faah. They probably got a bit of an ego trip goin’ on now.” Petrus said, not unwisely Jensen thought. “Feelin’ a little too comfoahtable and invincible.”_

_“Show them they aren’t,” Jared rushed to add. “Impress on them you have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing gets past the Big Boss Man.” Jensen wasn’t sure what to make of this nickname Jared seems to have given him. It’s cheeky but respectful. Jensen supposed he could live with it._

_“You already have a plan in mind, don’t you?”_

_Jared nodded; spark of hunger and bloodlust flashed in his eyes once more. This man had a thirst for killing, Jensen realized. He was willing to bet Jared’s used those boyish looks and soulful eyes to lethal advantage._ Is he using them on me now? _Jensen wondered. He’d been enamored with Jared from the second he laid eyes on him, knew Jared felt the electricity, the chemistry, between them._

_It hit Jensen, then, like a bolt from the blue; killing Ty and the others, plus whatever plan Jared has worked out to help Jensen reestablish his hold on the Organization, were Jared’s way of_ flirting _with him. Fucking hell. It shouldn’t be so arousing but it was. Random hook ups could provide release but never this kind of understanding. This was something Jensen never had, and could never have had, with Sterling: Someone who not only knew the score, but hungered for Jensen’s lifestyle. The knowledge made him half hard._

_He gestured for Jared to continue._

_“Kill them. Kill them all.”_

_Petrus shook his head and rolled his eyes. “That’s youah ansa to everythin’.” Jensen doesn’t get the bloodlust vibe from Petrus; he seems more pragmatic._

_“Let me dope it out for you,” Jared said, his eyes sparkled with eagerness and he licked his pretty pink lips. Christ, Jensen ached for a taste. “You have to send a message people like them understand.”_

_“People like them?” Jensen asked. He’s completely charmed by Jared, from the way he’s dressed and even the archaic terms he uses. Yes, Jared is infatuated with organized crime’s way of life._

_“Gangsters.”_

_“You read too many o’ them Puzo books growin’ up,” Petrus said. There was such a sardonic deadpan quality to Petrus that Jensen found himself enjoying. Yes, this man was a straight-shooter no doubt about it. Jensen loves honesty. Jared…. He’s not sure about Jared. There is deceptiveness in him, Jensen can sense it under the surface, but he doesn’t think Jared would lie to_ him _. Jesus. He sounded like a love sick teenager._

_“Shuddup, Petey,” Jared said affectionately. “If I did, that would be on you.” Petrus gave a lazy shrug._

_A little piece of the puzzle that is these two men drops into place. They knew each other as kids, but Jensen doesn’t think they are brothers. They don’t share a last name (that doesn’t necessarily mean anything) but they also didn’t look anything alike. That little exchange between them lead Jensen to believe Petrus had a hand in raising Jared._

_“Anyway,” Jensen prompted._

_“You have to punish them and show those under them that they cannot get away with fucking you over. Knock off the ones dippin’ into your pocket and that’ll send a message to others who might be thinking about trying the same thing.”_

_Jensen had to admit there is something to it. Swift and brutal._

_“How would you go about sending this message?” Jensen grinned. “Send ‘em a dead fish or put a horse head in their beds?”_

_Jared smiled and Jesus fuck he has the cutest dimples. How had Jensen not noticed them before?_

_“Don’t give the little fucka ideas, Boss,” Petrus said in that sardonic way Jensen is becoming familiar with._

_Jared gave Petrus an annoyed look, but with no animosity behind it. “Invite them to dinner. A nice dinner. Good wine and conversation. Just a bunch of friends getting together, maybe talking a little shop. Get their guards down then pop ‘em,” he made a finger gun gesture, “one behind the ear. With a .22.” He added, “.22’s won’t make a big mess to clean up. The bullet will go in, rattle around, scramble their brains a bit, but not create an exit wound. Quick and efficient. Those that see will understand if they fuck with you, you will know, and they will be next.”_

_“And where would this little dinner party take place?”_

_“Here, of course,” he said nonchalantly._

_“What? You’re talking about killing people on_ my _private property.”_

_“That’s the beauty of it. You want to put them at ease, just the Big Boss Man inviting a few of his most trusted lieutenants to a nice dinner. They would never think you’d bump ‘em off on your own property. And have them searched and their weapons confiscated when they come in. That’s usual procedure anyway so that won’t raise red flags.”_

_Jensen gets to his feet, crosses to the sideboard and pours himself a Scotch, turning the plan over in his mind. Jared has put a lot of thought into this and Jensen was coming to realize that though he was young Jared was something of a mastermind. With Petrus to back him up they would make formidable additions to not only his Organization but perhaps to his Inner Circle._

_“Your guys know how to clean up and the guest’s cars would just be fodder for the chop shops,” Jared added._

_“Who should be invited to this little death day party?” Jensen asked._

_“Those in charge of all the big operations: guns, drugs, gambling, and hooking, your Inner Circle guys. It would seem odd for them to not be there. Then Ritchie, Mark, and Freddy. They’ll be the ones to get bumped off since they are the ones in the wrong. Also the guys under them—not to kill them” Jared was quick to add, “just to get the point across, they fuck you over they’ll be next.”_

_Three bodies to get rid of. Not that tall of an order. As Jared said, his guys know how to clean up. Plus the Organization’s contacts in Dallas PD would take care of any official inquiries that may be made into Ritchie, Freddy or Mark’s disappearances. “I’ll give your idea some thought. Now, gentlemen, I want to, as always, thank you for your work.” He pulled out his money clip and peeled off ten one-hundred dollar bills for each man. He shook Petrus’ hand, giving him the fold of bills._

_“Sure thing. Thanks, Boss,” Petrus said._

_Jared put his hat back on, tipped it down over one cat-like eye. Jensen shook his hand, so big, warm and rough with calluses, and passed him the bills. Jared’s fingers linger and trail across the back of Jensen’s hand, to an onlooker it was casual, but the heat and intent in Jared’s gaze said it was anything but._

_“I’ll be in touch. Keep your eyes and ears open in the meantime.” He escorted the men out of his office._

_Twenty-four hours later he called Jared and gave the okay for his plan._

_The dining room set up was as elaborate as it had ever been for this event. The long teak wood dining table was set with the good china, crystal, fine linen napkins, and heavy antique silverware. Jensen still had reservations about inviting a few upper echelon of his Organization to his home only to gun them down, but he had to admit the cold-bloodedness and efficiency of it._

_The door slid open and the newest members of his Inner Circle silently came in. It was a struggle not to pant and drool at the sight of Jared tricked out in a bespoke three-piece pinstripe Armani suit. The custom tailoring accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, down to his trim waist and slim hips and long legs. His Gucci shoes were polished to a mirror shine. The fedora was absent, but there was a flashy gold pocket watch chain dangling from his teal paisley silk waistcoat and matching tie. His hair, while still long, has been cut into flattering layers that frame his angular face. Regular meals and access to the compound’s gym had done wonders for his physique, filling out his slender frame with lean muscle. Many times Jensen had observed Jared and Petrus working out together in the gym. Petrus lifting barbells or on the bench-press, while Jared ran on the treadmill or was on the elliptical._

_He swallowed hard and tore his eyes away to glance at Petrus who was more simply attired in all black and minus the waistcoat. He did however sport an atrocious, in Jensen’s opinion, green tie and matching handkerchief. Petrus’ hair, still halfway down his back, was pulled back in a neat ponytail. The trips to the gym had done wonders for him as well. With his thick biceps and massive chest, he looked like a beast. Jensen was glad that Petrus was loyal to him._

_“Gentlemen,” Jensen greeted with an incline of his head._

_The door opened again and Stevie Guitar, Kane, Tommy Blue, and Lazy Jase entered. They stopped short at seeing Jared and Petrus._

_“Are they those two street rats? Big ‘n Little?” Tommy Blue said. Jensen couldn’t tell if he was impressed with their elegant transformation or bewildered by it._

_Jensen fixed him with a glare, firmly in his role as leader of the Ackles Organization this evening. “Mr. Padalecki and Mr. Ratajczyk are my Enforcers and here at my personal invitation.”_

_Tommy grinned and held up a hand. “Sorry. Sorry. Howdy, fellas.” He tipped them a wave._

_“Stylin’ and profilin’ I see,” Lazy Jase said. “Congrats on the promotion, guys.” He strolled over to the table. “Extra swanky. Place cards and all.” He sprawled into his assigned seat with his trademark lazy grace._

_“A formal get-together to talk a little business,” Jensen said echoing Jared’s words of a few days ago. “Take your seats, gentlemen,” Jensen said to Tommy Blue, Kane and Stevie, motioning to the gracefully appointed dining table._

_Jared and Petrus took sentry positions on either side of the door, which positioned them so that those who sat on the left side of the table—specifically Ritchie the Chin, Mark, and Freddy—would have their backs to Jared and Petrus._

_Tommy Blue and Steve took their seats. Chris lingered and came closer to Jensen. Jared moved with a silent quickness that should have been difficult for someone so big, attempting to put himself between Jensen and Chris. Jensen threw out an arm to halt Jared. Jared gave Kane a long cold stare before returning to his spot at the door._

_“Jenny,” Chris began, glancing furtively at Jared._

_Jensen glowered at the hated nickname. A low growl came from Petrus and Jared took a threatening step forward, squaring his shoulders._

_“Jensen,” Chris corrected quickly and leaned in close to murmur. “Enforcers? Since when do you have Enforcers? What’s really going on here tonight?”_

_“Nothing you need to worry about.” Jensen smiled at his friend and clapped him on the shoulder. “Sit.”_

_Shortly after they were seated, others began to filter in. First was Misha Collins, an average looking man with brown hair, blue eyes and cavalier manner who ran the prostitution rackets. Jensen scanned the room, pausing for a moment to observe Jared staring a hole through Misha, his eyes flat as coins; and as lifeless as a doll’s eyes. It sent a shiver through Jensen. He wondered what that was about. Neither Jared nor Petrus had reported any duplicitous behavior in regards to how Misha ran his business. He had been overheard commenting on Jensen’s attractiveness and speculating what sexual positions Jensen might enjoy. Harmless shit-talk, and definitely disrespectful; Jared was probably offended on Jensen’s behalf. It shouldn’t make his heart flutter but it did. Jensen had him seated on the right, but near the end of the table._

_Next came Tahoma Penikett and Brock Kelly, two men who had worked under the late Ty Olsson in the gun running operation. Neither Jared nor Petrus had turned up anything untoward about them in their investigations. Both were young guys eager for the opportunity to prove themselves and had seemed ignorant of Olsson’s treachery. Followed by Matt Cohen and Jake Abel, who were the number two and three men under Tim Omundson entered the dining room next. They, like Tahoma and Brock, were young-ish men who followed orders and seemed ignorant of their boss’ duplicitous behavior. It didn’t escape Jensen’s notice that it was the older men, men who had worked dependably under his father, that seemed to have the idea they could fuck Jensen over._

_Freddy Lehne and Mark Pellegrino came in; shortly, followed by Richard Speight Jr. AKA Ritchie the Chin. Jensen cordially greeted them as he had all his guests. They in turn shook his hand and smiled in his face as if they weren’t sticking a knife in his fucking back._

_Chad Michael Murray, who ran the book making operations, sauntered in. He was blond and good-looking in that generic teen-heartthrob kind of way. His attitude was glib but he ran a good business. He gawked at the luxury he found himself surrounded by. “Good to be the king, huh, Ackles?”_

_“That is Mr. Ackles to you, Murray,” Petrus said, startling Chad._

_“Fucking hell!” He shrieked, clutching his chest. “Where did that big motherfucker come from?”_

_“Brooklyn,” Petrus answered in a deadpan voice. “And show some respect when you’re a guest in your boss’ home.”_

_Chad cowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. A., sir.”_

_Jensen nodded accepting the apology, motioning for him to take his seat on the right in the middle of the table._

_Mad Mike Rosenbaum, a slender man with short cropped light brown hair who was in charge of the drug trade entered. He offered Jensen a hand shake. “Boss,” he said. Mad Mike was so named because he had a streak of coldblooded insanity that came in useful dealing with the Mexican and Colombian drug cartels._

_“Mr. Rosenbaum, always nice to see you.” Jensen shook his hand and motioned for him to take his seat. Jensen observed the man giving Tommy Blue a wistful look before sitting beside him and drawing him into easy conversation._

_He had a friends-with-benefits thing going with Tommy Blue for several years now. Tommy Blue was calm and steadfast, which was a good counter for Mike’s brand of craziness. Jensen suspected both didn’t want to admit how serious they were about one another. His friends’ love lives weren’t his business and he stayed out of them, unless someone came to him for advice, which they rarely did since Jensen had ascended to top man in the Organization. They treated him with deference now, and though Jensen appreciated that, he missed just shooting the shit with his friends._

_With all his guests seated and the household staff waiting in the wings to serve the dinner, Jensen took his place at the head of the table._

_“I’m glad to have you all here. Let’s have a nice dinner then we can talk some business.”_

_Dinner was thick wagyu streaks paired with an exquisite cabernet. The flavor of the steak was praised to the heavens and back by his guests. Conversation was light mostly concerning women and sports, two subjects Jensen had no interest in. As time passed Jensen became angry. These men, who worked for him, some who actively tried to betray him, were sitting in his home, at his table, eating his food and drinking his wine as if they had not a care in the world. Jensen let the anger build. The same men laughing and drinking also called him faggot behind his back and Pretty Jenny. Jared was right. They were disloyal and dishonorable and needed to be taken care of. Disloyalty and dishonor were weeds infecting his Organization and he needed to rip them out, root and stem._

_After the steaks were demolished, Jensen tapped his glass to get everyone’s attention. He schooled his features into an impassive mask, not letting the anger he was nursing show._

_“I appreciate everyone coming here tonight. I hope it has been worth it.”_

_“Damn fine meal, Mr. Ackles,” Ritchie the Chin called out. Others echoed his sentiments. It was only right for the condemned to have a decent final meal, Jensen thought._

_“Thank you for that.” Jensen flashed a humble smile, though it galled him, the duplicity of these fucking bastards. “It’s been hard since my father died. I won’t lie. It’s been a struggle. I’ve heard the whispers. Oh, yes. People skimming profits, skewing numbers. People get greedy. It’s always been a problem. Then there was the incident with the attempted hijacking.”_

_There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, the post-meal lassitude shifted to wary apprehension. Jensen’s demeanor which he had kept laid-back became icy and forbidding. He knew how to turn it on and did so now. He dragged his gaze over to the men on the left side of the table. Ritchie the Chin shifted in his seat. Freddy and Mark’s eyes darted around. They might as well have GUILTY stamped across their fucking foreheads._

_Jensen’s fists clench and he allowed some of the anger burning in him to creep into his voice. “I’ve heard other whispers, too. The speculation that the son is not the father, that I am not the man “Iron” Alan Ackles was. They look at me and don’t see Iron. They see a pretty faggot!” Jensen slammed his hands down flat on the table as he surged to his feet. “They think I can’t control this business because I fuck men! Because I have doe eyes and cocksucking lips!” Jensen’s lip curled in a sneer of distaste. His eyes raked over the three slated to die in moments. Adrenaline pulsed through him. His heart raced in his chest, blood pounded though his veins. He felt lightheaded; almost giddy._

_Out of the corner of his eye he detected Jared and Petrus reaching into their jackets. None seated noticed because their eyes were glued to Jensen and his uncharacteristic display of anger. Good._

_He turned to the room at large, those he trusts implicitly, and those he is unsure of. “You’re all fucking wrong!” Jensen roared, letting his rage have free reign, letting it twist those “pretty” features into an ugly mask. “Pretty Jenny is dead!”_

_At the mention of the loathed nickname, Petrus and Jared open fire. A quick succession of gunshots ring out. Ritchie the Chin, Mark Pellegrino, and Freddy Lehne all go slack, some fall forward into their empty plates and others fall to the side and slip from their chairs. Dead, each with a hole still smoking from the backs of their skulls .22 caliber bullets buried deep in their brains._

_Silence reigned and the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood wafted through the air. Jensen shifted his hard gaze to the men seated furthest from him, those whose loyalty he had deemed questionable—Matt, Brock, Jake, Tahoma—all stare at him with shocked disbelief and a new healthy dose of fear. “There are two things I do not forgive, disloyalty and disrespect,” his voice was soft and calm now but shot through with ice. “You who remain, if you try to fuck me over and go into business for yourselves you’d do well to remember who you’re dealing with, and what I’m capable of.” Jensen turned to leave but stopped and fixed the men with a disdainful stare. “And If I_ ever _hear the name Pretty Jenny uttered again, I’ll cut out your goddamn tongue myfuckingself! Jensen turned to Chris. The man was instantly at attention and alert if a bit stunned after what just took place. “Get a crew in here and clean this shit up.” Jensen strode from the room, Jared and Petrus followed in his wake._

_Once he was in the foyer he turned to Petrus and Jared. Jared’s eyes were alight, though he outwardly appeared calm. Petrus likewise appeared indifferent to the executions carried out. “Petrus, would you please see to getting rid of the cars.”_

_Petrus inclined his dark head in a respectful nod. “Yes, sir.”_

_Jensen waited until Petrus was gone before reaching out, grabbing Jared by the lapels of his three thousand dollar suit and hauling him in for a deep and dirty kiss. The other man returned it with equal fervor, arms wrapped tight around Jensen. Jensen had no doubt that this man and his plan just helped him secure his hold on the Ackles Organization for many years to come. Heaven help him, Jared may be a touch unbalanced under that aloof exterior but Jensen wanted him, wanted him with an intensity and fierceness that should scare him. This man in whose arms he was in was fucking_ dangerous _, a rabid dog, but Jensen held his leash._

_When they broke apart Jensen was rock hard and felt Jared’s answering erection. His breath was warm and scented faintly with whiskey and smoke as it gusted across his lips. He gazed down at Jensen with desire so scorching in intensity Jensen could almost feel it. He wanted this man with equal fervor, but now was not the time._

_“Help them,” Jensen indicated the dining room with a jerk of his head._

_If Jared was disappointed or pissed off he gave nothing away. He stepped back from Jensen, with a few precise movements his suit was once again in pristine shape. He inclined his head. “Yes…sir,” he said with a smirk._

_No one ever called him Pretty Jenny after that. Not even a whisper of it reached him. But a new name was making the rounds in the underworld: “Ice Cold” Ackles. Maybe a tad cliché, he thought, but it got shit across. He was in firm control of the Organization._

For the last fourteen years he has ruled over the Organization. Never questioned and if—on the very off chance he was—his Enforcers were there to take care of it. Except, thinking about things now, and in reality what the hell else can he do but think, for maybe the last three years there have been attacks and incursions on his territory. They weren’t any real threats, just minor inconveniences; some arsons and robberies and attempts to extort money for “protection” from shop owners. Small time shit; but maybe those incidences have something to do with this. 

The grinding squeal of the trapdoor being opened again prevents Jensen from exploring that train of thought. 

A hand flicks out. There is a wink of silver and a foil wrapped something, Jensen surmises is a sandwich, lands with a dull splat at the bottom of the pit. “It’s not wagyu, but eat hearty, Pretty Jenny.” A male voice says from above, tone full of mockery before the trap door slams shut and the light goes out. 

Well, his captor, and he has no doubt that _was_ his captor, has certainly given him something new to think about. Mentioning wagyu and using the hated and forgotten nickname were clues. That significantly narrows down the list of suspects. Whoever has him works for him or used to. Jensen knows the story of the Dinner Party got out and circulated among those of their vocation, but the odds of some rando dropping it is slim. No, his captor wants Jensen to know, or figure, out who they are.

He has to be patient. His captor will reveal himself. It’s all about showing Jensen who has the power. It’s not very original, really. Whoever is behind this lacks imagination. Oh, he’ll given them a few bonus points for keeping him in this pit—the whole duct-taped-to-a-chair thing is beyond cliché—but that’s as far as he’ll go. Even that idea isn’t original. His captor probably watched _Silence of the Lambs_ and stole the idea of a pit. 

Jensen gets down on his hands and knees and gropes around for the sandwich his kidnapper so thoughtfully provided. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. A briny vaguely processed smell hits his nose followed by the yeasty smell of the bread. Bologna? He doubts it is poisoned. All this, keeping him naked, in the dark, giving him very simple food is a game, meant to humiliate him. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been down here. Two days? Three? He is ravenous and very thirsty, only taking sips of water. He doesn’t know when he may be given another bottle so he is carefully rationing it. He doesn’t think he can do so with the sandwich. While his pit is below ground and therefore cool, it will still spoil. He has the water, the little bottle is still mostly full, so he’ll eat the whole sandwich. Which his fingertips tell him there isn’t a lot to it, two pieces of bread and one slice of bologna. Still, it’s food. 

He wonders what Jared and Petrus are doing now. Jared is probably ready to go scorched earth and raze Dallas to the ground to get him back. Petrus right beside him bashing the skulls of whoever might be left. Not an ounce of doubt that Jared is coming for him, Jensen eats his meal.


	3. Love You To Death

3- Love You To Death

_After having more than proven their loyalty and usefulness Jared and Petrus were welcomed into Jensen’s Inner Circle and given quarters at the Ackles compound. Jensen was not surprised Jared found his way to Jensen’s private quarters on his first night. It was nearing eleven, Jensen was heading to bed for the night. Jared’s rooms were on the second floor, along with the other members of the Inner Circle. Jensen was buttoning his pajama top when the door to his room opened. Turning, ready to tear whoever was intruding on his personal quarters a new asshole, his scolding died on his lips as Jared slipped in dressed in a black wife beater and soft-looking grey knit pants. Jensen swallowed at the very visible bulge of Jared’s cock._

_He hadn’t extended Jared an invitation to his bed but both knew it was inevitable._

_Jared closed the door silently behind him and turned the lock, brow cocked and a smirk firmly in place. Jensen’s heart raced and his stomach fluttered as Jared stalked across the room. He looked like a big jungle cat, a tiger or jaguar, eyeing its prey. Jensen flushed all over and his cock grew half hard._

_“We doin’ this, baby?” Jared asked, gaze lingering on Jensen’s growing arousal._

_Unable to find his voice, Jensen jerkily nodded._

_Jared’s predatory eyes glittered and he took a step closer, pressing against Jensen, the younger man’s body radiated heat. “Gimme words, Jense. You want me to fuck you?”_

_Jensen ached. In Jared, he sensed, a man who could give Jensen what he needed, what he has always longed for, but could never ask for with his previous lovers. He licked his lips, dropped all his affectations, and sank to his knees._

_“Yes, Sir, please, fuck me.”_

_Jared reached out and cupped the back of Jensen’s head, trailed his fingers along Jensen’s jaw, tilted his head up slightly. “You have a word?”_

_Jensen’s soul sang. Jared saw him, understood what he needed. “Cinnamon, Sir,” he sighed._

_“Slow down?” Jared inquired further._

_“Ginger, Sir.”_

_Jared nodded. “You have anything you like to be called? Bitch? Boy?”_

_“Just my name, Sir, and I…I….” Jensen paused, he cheeks suffused with warmth._

_“Tell me.”_

_“I liked it when you called me baby.”_

_“Things you don’t like?”_

_“Watersports. Scat. Humiliation. Sounding. I don’t like pain but don’t mind spanking.”_

_“Bondage?”_

_“Light bondage is fine, Sir.”_

_Jared nodded. “I think that’s enough to start.” He petted Jensen’s head again. “It’s hard being the Big Boss Man all the time, isn’t it? You want to lay it down for just a little while, don’t you?”_

_Jensen’s throat constricted and he could feel the sting of tears. Jared saw him so clearly. It’s a little frightening. “Yes, Sir. So much.” Jared’s substantial erection tented out his pants. “Please, Sir, may I suck your cock?”_

_“No,” Jared answered. “I’m going to fuck your hot mouth and throat. If I like that well enough I’ll think about taking that cute little ass of yours.” Jared peeled off his wife beater, exposing a well-defined six pack; then, pushed his pants down his long legs._

_Jensen couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him as Jared’s impressive length was freed. His ass clenches in anticipation. It’s been so long since anything but his own fingers had been inside him._

_“Strip and lie down on the bed, hang your head over the edge.”_

_Jensen pushed back to his feet and hurriedly takes off his silk pajamas. He could feel Jared’s eyes on him, moving all over his body. He does as Jared ordered, unsure of the odd positioning. Then, understanding dawned as Jared stepped up to the side of the bed. His heavy cock and balls are at the perfect height for Jensen to suck; his mouth floods with saliva at the prospect._

_Jared cradled Jensen’s head in both hands, fingers firm on his throat. Jared could easily kill him, strangle him, or break his neck; this position left him so vulnerable._

_“Open wide, baby.” Jared’s voice was a low husk. Jensen shivered all over at the tone and endearment._

_Obediently Jensen opened his mouth as wide as he could. The hot hard length of Jared’s cock slipped in. Jensen’s eyes rolled in his head and he moaned at the salty taste, the weight on his tongue. Jared pumped his hips gently, nudging in further. Jensen went to seal his mouth to add a little suction, but Jared removed his cock from Jensen’s mouth and slapped him across the cheeks with it._

_“No. Be good and let me use your mouth and throat.”_

_“I’m sorry, Sir,” Jensen said and opened his mouth again._

_Jared slid his cock back in, rocking his hips, urging his cock deeper with each thrust. Understanding dawned and Jensen relaxed his throat muscles and the head of Jared’s cock breached his throat. He gagged and wanted to cough._

_“Tap my hip once if you’re okay or twice if you need me to stop,” Jared said breathing harder._

_Jensen tapped his hip once. “So good, baby,” Jared praised and began to fuck Jensen’s mouth and throat, with slow deep sure strokes. Jensen struggled with his gag reflex; he’s had his mouth fucked before but not by anyone with Jared’s girth. Jared thrusts in deep and holds himself there, cutting off Jensen’s air before slipping out again. Jared’s hands, which had been holding Jensen’s head at the right angle, tightened around his throat further cutting off his air. Jensen’s heart gave a panicky throb, as he remembered how vulnerable he was right now. He couldn’t breathe around Jared’s cock clogging his throat and now Jared was squeezing his already constricted throat._

_“Once for yes, twice for stop,” Jared reminded thrusting a little faster, giving Jensen’s mouth a good fucking._

_Jensen tapped once, and closed his eyes, and gave himself over to Jared._

_“You should fu-fucking see what I do. Your throat fucking_ bulging _with my cock ramming down it. So fucking hot.”_

_Jensen tried to moan but he could make any sound. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes watered. Spit and Jared’s precum leaked from the corners of his mouth. Jared babbled as he fucked Jensen’s mouth and throat mercilessly. He alternated between cutting off Jensen’s air with his cock and hands. His big heavy balls covered Jensen’s nose giving him a nice whiff of Jared’s musk; soap, sweat, and testosterone. Jensen’s own cock was leaking a puddle of precum on his belly. He wanted to touch himself so badly but he can’t ask Sir for permission._

_Jared withdrew his cock almost completely from Jensen’s mouth, his hands grip Jensen’s throat, completely cutting off his air. Time ticked by; Jared thrusts shallowly into Jensen’s mouth as he continued to strangle him. Jensen’s pulse raced, his heart beat a painful tattoo against his ribs, but his mind was calm, as calm as it had ever been. Jensen was on the verge of blacking out when Jared’s fingers relented. Pressure gone from his throat Jensen sucked in a ragged breath of air. His near strangulation did nothing to curb his erection; he was still hard as nails and aching. Jared’s fingers grabbed a handful of Jensen’s hair and pulled him up and off the bed._

_“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Jared praised sounding awed, eyes dancing with wonder, mouth a breath away from Jensen’s. He closed the infinitesimal distance between them and kissed him, once more stealing his breath. Jensen wrapped his arms around the other man, gripped him tight. He threaded his fingers through all that soft brown hair, feeling his nape and temples damp with sweat._

_Jared broke the kiss. Jensen clung to him as if Jared were the only thing in the world, as if he would spiral into a deep black abyss if he let go. His throat felt scraped raw and his jaw aches in the best way. “Thank you, Sir.”_

_“So good for me, baby, letting me use you. I think you deserve a treat.” He tapped Jensen’s hip. “On the bed, on your stomach, spread eagle.”_

_Jensen blindly turned to the bed and promptly flopped down on it, lying on his stomach after reaching down to adjust his painfully hard cock. Jared’s hands trailed across his back and shoulders. “Strong shoulders to carry all the weight that you do. Gorgeous back,” Jared commented, “so wide and narrowing down to this…” He gave Jensen’s asscheeks a little playful swat. He felt Jared climb onto the bed with him._

_“Thank you, Sir. Lube and condoms in the bedside table, Sir.”_

_Jared hummed noncommittally. “We’ll get there.” He drawled. Jensen felt something tickling his lower back. He had a second to register it was Jared’s hair before Jared spread Jensen’s cheeks and licked him from his perineum to the top of his crack._

_“Oh Jesus. Oh fuck!” Jensen moaned, a little shocked._

_“Has anybody ever done this to you before?” Jared asked. He blew a stream of cool air across Jensen’s hole._

_“No, no, Sir. I never….” He had wanted someone to rim him but had never asked always afraid of feeling so open and vulnerable. Something he could never allow himself to be. He opened his mouth to try and explain but Jared shushed him._

_“It’s okay, baby. With me you don’t even have to ask. Fuckin’ crime for an ass this fine to not be properly appreciated. I’m just the man to do it.”_

_Jensen lost track of time, only aware of Jared tonguing his ass and the steadily building ache in his balls. His hands gripped the sheets, hips moving on their own either to get some much needed friction on his cock or to get more of Jared’s mouth on him. Jared ate his ass like a starving man at a buffet and Jensen moaned like a fucking shameless whore. That fact that Jared was enjoying what he was doing, and not doing it solely for Jensen, heightened his pleasure. It was too much. It was too good. His balls tingled and tightened with impending orgasm._

_“Jared! Jared! Jared! I’m going to come! Can I please come? Please, please, Sir?”_

_“So good. Yes, baby, you can come. I want you to come with my tongue in your ass.” Jared went back to work feasting on Jensen’s ass._

_When Jensen came it was like a supernova behind his eyes, he heard himself wailing in pleasure as he shuddered and his cock erupted onto the duvet. His orgasm seemed to go on and on, verging on painful. When he was through, he was exhausted and boneless and more replete than he had ever been in his life._

_He heard Jared chuckling low and liquid behind him. “Oh, you ain’t done yet, baby.”_

_Jensen whimpered as, with gentle hands, Jared turned him over onto his back. He gazed down at him with such intensity, such desire._

_“Are you green?” Jared asked._

_Jensen swallowed, Christ, this man was almost too much for Jensen. His chest tightened with emotion, knowing Jared was asking after his wellbeing, if Jensen was okay to continue. Jensen had no doubts that if he said ‘cinnamon’ Jared would stop._

_Jensen nodded his consent for Jared to fuck him._

_“Words, Big Boss Man.” Jared raised a brow, teasing little smirk quirked up the corner of his mouth._

_“Yes, Sir, I’m fine and would very much like you to fuck me with your gorgeous cock, please.” His gaze drifted down to Jared’s cock, so thick and flushed so dark with blood, Jensen knew it had to hurt. He wanted to alleviate that hurt, he wanted Jared inside him, splitting him open and ramming in deep. God, it has been ages since he’s been used the way he liked, if he ever had been._

_Jared reached for the bottle of lube and a condom. Jensen’s hand covered Jared’s. He shook his head. “I want to feel just you in me. I want to feel it when you come, I want to feel it run out after. I’m safe,” Jensen said. It had been more than six months since he had a lover, and he always got tested regularly. “If you aren’t, or don’t know if you are, I’ll understand.”_

_“I’m clean. Been too busy with this new career I’ve been embarking on to focus on my sex life, although I think that might be changing.” He tossed the condom aside and slicked up his fingers._

_Jensen is so relaxed from the rimjob and his orgasm that Jared doesn’t need to spend much time opening him up. One finger quickly became two, became three, grazing over his prostate causing pleasure to ricochet through him and his spent dick tried to rise once more._

_When Jared pushed inside for the first time Jensen felt like his heart was cracking open, not to break, but to allow Jared to take up residence. He moved in slow lazy strokes, that girthy dick stretching Jensen wide, filling him up so good, and reaching places inside him never touched before. It wasn’t long before Jensen was fully erect again and begging Jared for more, harder, faster._

_Jared hitched Jensen’s legs higher around his hips and leaned down over him. He clasped Jensen hands in his own, interlacing their fingers. He held them up on either side of Jensen’s head._

_“Who’s in charge here?” Jared asked grinding into Jensen._

_“You are, Sir.” Jensen said around a breathy moan as Jared’s cockhead tormented his prostate._

_“That’s right. Take what Sir gives you and be grateful.” The reprimand in Jared’s voice made a wave of regret wash over him._

_“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. Sir.”_

_Jared fucked him slow, deep, and hard. Jensen didn’t think it was possible, but he climaxed for a second time that night, even though his balls don’t have much to give._

_After, they lay together, Jensen resting his head on one of Jared’s broad shoulders as their breathing powered down. Jensen wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. Jared had stripped him bare and tore him down. He had never allowed a lover to know his most secret desire and he hadn’t even had to tell Jared what it was. Jared just seemed to know what Jensen craved, for all his poise and control in every other aspect of his life, was to let go, be dominated, told what to do, and how to do it, to put himself in someone else’s hands. Would Jared want to keep this up? Could they? It could be dangerous. If any enemies got wind that they were anything other than boss and employee they would use that against them._

_“We have to be careful, Jared,” Jensen began after an interval. “What goes on in this room is just between us. I don’t want you acting as if we are anything other than boss and employee outside these walls.”_

_Jared, perceptive as ever said, “You don’t want our relationship used against us. I get it. That’s cool. I like knowing I’m the only one who gets to see this side of you.”_

_“Not even Petrus,” Jensen reiterated knowing the two men were extremely close._

_Jared chuckled. “I swear you’re the only person who has ever called him that. And, no, not even Petey.”_

_“What’s the deal between you two?” There was sharpness in the way the question came out, annoyance born from jealousy, he couldn’t keep from his tone. If Jared heard it he gave no sign._

_“You don’t know?” Jared replied._

_“I know you’re close. He seems protective of you. Were you two…ever….?”_

_Jared laughed, low and liquid. “Hell, no. He’s so straight, a ruler ain’t got nuthin’ on him. I doubt he knows I’m gay.” He went quiet for a beat. “He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. A brother.”_

_“How long have you known him?”_

_“Since I was ten. I ran away from a foster home after the father tried to bad-touch me.” He said it in a self-deprecating way that was reminiscent of Petrus._

_“Jesus! I’m sorry.”_

_Jared shrugged. “It’s okay. I killed the guy a few years later when I was fifteen.” A jolt of worry shot through Jensen. The casual mention of committing murder at a young age reminded Jensen that the man sharing his bed right now was very dangerous. He wondered if that had been the first time Jared killed. There was so much he didn’t know about Jared and he wanted to know everything. Before Jensen could ask for more details Jared spoke again._

_“Anyway, I met Petey at the park I had been living in. I used to sleep in one of those tube slides.”_

_“You were ten for fucks sake. How did you even get by?”_

_“Picking pockets and shoplifting. Wasn’t hard. I was cute and an adroit liar.”_

_Jensen pictured Jared as a child, a mop of brown hair, innocent dimpled smile, and big hazel blue eyes getting him out of trouble he might have managed to get in. “Artful Dodger,” Jensen grinned, turned his head into the crook of Jared’s neck and licked along his jugular._

_“Yeah, for a bit, but then I had Petey to look after me. We looked after each other. He used to park my ass in the library for hours to make me read and learn. Best education I could have ever got.”_

_“How old was he?”_

_“Sixteen.”_

_Jensen pondered that, tried to imagine why a sixteen year old would want to look after a ten year old kid, especially a kid he didn’t know. He would have to ask Petrus one of these days. Finding out about Petrus wasn’t nearly as interesting as finding out about Jared. “What kinda stuff did you read?” Jensen asked having a notion it wasn’t_ Green Eggs and Ham _or_ Goosebumps _._

_“Mafia books mostly. Puzo at first. Then biographies of the greats: Capone, Siegel, Luciano, Gotti. All those guys. I wanted to be just like ‘em. Guess now I am.”_

_That certainly explained Jared’s manner and style of dress. He had patterned himself after his Mafioso heroes. Jensen even thought that was charming. A man infatuated with the underworld and Jensen himself, an underworld kingpin. They were a hell of a match._

_“This isn’t exactly_ La Cosa Nostra _, Jare.”_

_“Maybe not, but we both know its close enough. It has the same glamour and violence I fell in love with reading about, the same code of honor. You just call it an “Organization” instead of a “Family”._

_Jensen tilted his head up and caught Jared’s gaze. Once again that shiver, that awareness, that Jared was dangerous, zipped through him. He wasn’t afraid. It thrilled him._

_“I love you, Jensen. I’d do anything for you. I’d rip anyone to shreds who even tried hurting you, betraying you, defying you, denying you anything you wish, or keep us apart.” Jared’s eyes burned with the kind of devotion Jensen had only seen in religious zealots._

_Jensen swallowed. His heart stumbled in his chest, as if it forgot how to beat. He’d never expected a love declaration this soon, if at all, from the enigmatic man. Thought maybe this might be just a sex thing for Jared, but no, Jared loved him. It was crazy. What was even crazier was that Jensen loved him back._

_He slammed his mouth across Jared’s, their teeth clashing so hard that he tasted blood. He drove his tongue into Jared’s mouth and climbed on top of him, bracketing the other man’s hips with his knees. He felt Jared’s cock hot and hard beneath him. Jensen doubted he could get hard again, forget about coming, but he wanted nothing more at this moment than Jared inside him._

_He reached behind himself, grasped Jared’s cock, and guided it to his hole still slick with lube and Jared’s come. “You, too.” The words felt too insignificant, too puny, to convey the depth of what he was feeling. But maybe Jared knew, understood, because he felt it too. He took Jared easily, relishing the fullness and the stretch._

_“Anything. Anything for you, Jensen. Anything,” Jared intoned over and over, a vow, as Jensen rode his thick cock, lifting up and slamming down hard. His hands gripped Jensen’s hips tight, fingers digging into the skin. Jensen hoped he would have bruises in the morning. Jared didn’t issue orders or control the rhythm of this fuck. He let Jensen use him, let him take, gave Jensen everything. All the while his eyes blazed and his lips spoke benedictions, swearing his love and loyalty._

_Jensen had been wrong. He could get hard again and he did come once more before blacking out._

_Above all Jensen was a businessman, even if half of his business happened to be illegal, and he ran things accordingly. After having gotten rid of the traitors and disloyal soldiers in his Organization Jensen decided a little shuffle of personnel was needed, so he had appointments throughout the afternoon with the leaders of each crew._

_The guns, fencing, and trucking operations all needed new leaders installed. Immediately after the attempted hijacking Jensen had assigned Stevie Guitar and Kane to take over the gun running operations in the interim. They were beyond reproach, but had other jobs and territories to oversee. Jensen didn’t want them stretched too thin._

_“Mr. Ackles, sir,” Jensen was behind his desk looking over his list of appointments when his chauffeur, Mitch Pileggi, stepped inside. He was a stocky bald man of fifty and had been driving for the Ackles’ for years._

_“Yes, Mr. Pileggi?”_

_“Will you be needing the car today, sir?”_

_“No. I’m working from home today. See that they are washed and detailed though.”_

_“Of course, sir.” The man inclined his head in a respectful nod before he left._

_Jensen’s first appointment was with Misha Collins. He didn’t plan on replacing him, but there was the little matter of the lewd and disrespectful comments he had been overheard saying. Jensen planned to let Jared put a little scare into him._

_“Good afternoon, Mr. Collins,” Jensen motioned for the man to have a seat. “I won’t detain you very long. How’s business?” Jensen asked._

_“Good. Steady. No complaints from the girls or guys working for me and my crew. I run a tight clean business, Mr. Ackles. Customers appreciate that.”_

_Jensen expected as much. “I like to hear that.” Jensen slipped into the ice cold mask and fixed Misha with a hard stare. “What I don’t like to hear is some of the shit you talk about me.”_

_Jared entered the office then, silent as shadow. Before Misha knew what was going on, Jared had him pinned to the desk by the back of his neck, cheek pressed into the dark wood, barrel of a gun snug against his temple._

_“Wh-wh-what did I say?” Misha stammered. “I have never said anything about you!”_

_“Shut your filthy disrespectful mouth! He ain’t done talking yet,” Jared’s voice was fucking arctic but his eyes burned with hunger. Jensen knew he ached to pull that trigger._

_“I heard you like to hypothesize about my sexual appetites and rhapsodize about my appearance,” Jensen said. “Don’t bother to deny it. This information comes from an unimpeachable source.”_

_Jared pulled the hammer back on the pistol._

_“All right! All right! I said some stuff! I didn’t mean anything by it! You’re a fucking good-looking guy, Mr. Ackles! That’s all I meant!”_

_Jensen gave Jared a nod, for a fraction of a second the idea that Jared might not obey flitted through his mind. He needn’t worry; Jared uncocked the pistol and released his hold on Misha. Misha straightened up, panting and dripping sweat as he stumbled away from Jared, eyes wide, and fearful._

_“Keep your mind on your business and your lecherous thoughts to yourself. If you can’t do that I’ll replace you with someone that can. Get the fuck out of here.” Jensen waved a dismissive hand._

_Misha turned and bolted for the door, but Jared was there, blocking his way, that cold dead look in his eyes._

_“Jared,” Jensen snapped._

_After one last glare Jared moved aside. Misha rushed through the door._

_Jensen rose from behind his desk and crossed to Jared, reaching behind him to close the office door. He looked up at the man he loved._

_“You hate him. Why?”_

_“I’m not talking about it.” Jared’s voice was as flat and dead as his eyes._

_Something about Misha causes Jared to utterly shut down and Jensen longed to know what it is. If he could help in some way._

_“Do you know him? From before you came to work for me?”_

_“No, and I told you, I’m not talking about it.”_

_Jensen wanted to push the issue but he didn’t want to risk pushing Jared away. “Okay,” he nodded, and gripped Jared’s bicep, to offer comfort and reassurance. “But you know you can tell me anything and it will go no further.”_

_Jared gazed down at him, there was true anger in his eyes directed at Jensen for the first time, but also something else, fear mixed with shame. This man was such a puzzle wrapped in an enigma. “Drop it, Jensen.” His tone brooked no argument._

_Jensen backed away. He returned to his seat at his desk, looked at his appointment book. “Penikett, Cohen and their guys are next,” Jensen said evenly._

_Jared inclined his head and returned to his position to the right, just behind Jensen._

_Fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door._

_“Enter.”_

_Tahoma, followed by his number two man, Brock Kelly, Matthew Cohen and his number two man Jake Abel all filed in. They each tried to appear unintimidated, but failed. Their shoulders and back were stiff with tension and their steps were measured as they approached the desk, like they would rather run the other way, especially once they saw Jared standing behind Jensen._

_“Gentlemen,” Jensen greeted then cut right to the chase. “I’ll assume you know what this is about.”_

_“Mr. Ackles, sir. We had no idea what Olsson was up to,” Tahoma was quick to begin._

_“You think you would still be alive if I even thought you had?” Jensen asked._

_He watched the young men swallow and shift with uncertainty. Their gazes flitted over to Jared once more. “No, sir?”_

_“Exactly. My men didn’t turn up anything duplicitous in their investigations of you. You’re all young and seem eager to prove yourselves, so you followed your boss’ orders.”_

_“Yes, sir. Your Organization has been real good to us,” this from Matt, who was good looking with dark hair and blue-grey eyes._

_Jensen took the measure of each young man. “You trust the men under you, Mr. Penikett? They are loyal to you?”_

_“Yes, sir. We all came up together.”_

_Jensen shifted his attention to Matt and Jake. “What about the men under you, Mr. Cohen?”_

_“Oh, yes, sir,” Matt replied. “Loyal to you most of all.”_

_“I like to hear that. I like action and proof even better.”_

_“Whatever you ask, we’ll do, sir.” Tahoma said standing tall and proud as any soldier would._

_“You feel up to the challenge of taking over for the late and unlamented Mr. Olsson, Mr. Penikett?_

_“I do, sir.” Tahoma answered._

_“And you, Mr. Cohen, feel up to stepping into Mr. Omundson’s vacant role?”_

_“Yes, sir,” Matt replied with a firm nod, standing up straighter._

_Tahoma opened and closed his mouth, appearing thoughtful and apprehensive._

_“Yes? Something to say?” Jensen prompted._

_“Maybe I should have figured out what Ty was up to. He said I was doing a good job so he let me take over some smaller operations. That felt good. He probably did it to distract me and not because he had faith in me. I do sincerely apologize, Mr. Ackles, sir.”_

_“Yes, perhaps,” Jensen purposefully didn’t clarify what he meant. Let them stew on it. “Consider it a lesson, Mr. Penikitt. I am, however, showing faith in you._ Do not _show me that faith has been misplaced. I can forgive ignorance. Once,” Jensen added, pinning each man with his cold gaze. “You see those shipments get to where they are supposed to—on time every time and we’ll all be happy.”_

_“Yes, sir,” Tahoma replies, eager. “Thank you for the opportunity. You can count on us.”_

_“We’ll see. Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Jensen dismissed them with a lazy gesture._

_After the door closed behind the four men Jensen asked, “What do you think?”_

_“Maybe keep Kane or Stevie around to give them a little more guidance, but I think they’re on the level. They respect you and are a bit scared of you.”_

_“You’re not,” Jensen observed._

_“No,” Jared said simply, no bullshitting. “But_ you _are scared of me.”_

_Jensen turned in his seat and gazed up at Jared, heart rate ratcheting up. Is there anything about him Jared didn’t know? Didn’t see? It was disconcerting and soothing at the same time, to have utterly no secrets, and free to be completely himself._

_“You’re the one person who doesn’t need to be. Well, apart from Petey.”_

_Jensen grinned. He returned to his agenda and checked names off his appointments list. “Oh, hell. Chad Murray is next,” Jensen said._

_“What?” Jared asked sharply, on alert. “I didn’t think he was cause for concern.”_

_“He’s not. He’s just a little sleazy is all. If you spend any time around him you’ll understand what I mean.”_

_There was a jaunty rap on the door._

_“Yes,” Jensen said. “Do come in, Mr. Murray.”_

_The door opened and the blond man strolled in._

_“Mr. Ackles always a pleasure, Boss,” his sky blue eyes took Jensen’s measure. “Could make it more of one, ya know.” He gave Jensen the elevator eyes treatment before winking._

_“Sit down, Mr. Murray,” Jensen said with a snap in his voice._

_“Anything you say,” He grinned suggestively as he sat across from Jensen’s desk._

_Murray’s behavior wasn’t anything Jensen wasn’t used to but it annoyed him. Still, he knew there were some people you couldn’t change. What mattered to Jensen was how well the gambling operations ran and he never had cause for complaint. This meeting was more about touching base than replacing Murray._

_“I’m meeting with all crew leaders, Mr. Murray,” Jensen began, lacing his fingers together on his desktop and regarding Chad impartially. “How is business?”_

_“Good. There’s always someone wanting to make a quick buck on a hand of cards or a hunch to play on the ponies.”_

_“Any trouble collecting from those that lose?”_

_“Not too much. Miss having Big ‘n Little around, but my guys get it done.”_

_“Glad to hear it,” Jensen stood and came from behind his desk. “And the guys under you, you trust them? They loyal to the Organization?”_

_Chad turned uncharacteristically serious, probably remembering what happened to those who were not loyal. “Yes, sir, Boss. They wouldn’t have much of anything if they wasn’t working for me, err, you, sir. If you ever need anything, Mr. Ackles you only need to ask.” He wagged his brows and leered at Jensen again._

_Jensen was glad to send Chad on his way. He felt as if he needed a shower though. He glanced over to Jared, expecting to see some sign of anger or irritation, but he was as impassive as a Sphinx; just a bodyguard, nothing more. There was a knock on the office door._

_“Yeah?” Jensen answered._

_Petrus entered and Jensen relaxed; he had been worried that Chad was coming back for some reason._

_“I checked on those shops like ya asked me to, sir.”_

_“Hey, Big Boss Man,” Jared spoke up suddenly. “Mind if I take a little break? Grab something to eat now that Petey’s here?”_

_“Of course,” he dismissed him with a wave of his hand._

_“Want anything, Petey?”_

_“Already ate.”_

_Jared waved and was gone._

_Later that night, Jared slipped into Jensen’s bedroom with a small box beautifully wrapped with shiny metallic blue wrapping paper and topped with a gold velvet ribbon. Jensen was unsure what to think. There was something in those mercurial eyes of Jared’s that was unsettling; as if some part of Jensen’s lizard hindbrain registered that the lanky young man in front of him wasn’t quite right. That he’s dangerous, and Jensen knows dangerous men, but that Jared might actually be unhinged._

_“It’s not a bomb or anything.” Jared’s voice was quiet, eyes downcast. Jensen detected a vague hint of hurt in Jared’s voice. Jensen felt guilty. Hadn’t Jared told him earlier in the day that he was one person who should never be afraid of him?_

_Jensen smiled. “I didn’t think it was. It’s late for my birthday and too early for Christmas.” He tugged on the ribbon, untying, and removing it; then, tore off the bright cheerful paper revealing a plain white gift box. It felt light but nevertheless Jensen knew whatever was inside had indefinable weight. He removed the top and stared down at what Jared has gifted him. It took a few seconds for what he was holding to register. A pair of glazed and misshapen blue eyeballs rested on a silk pillow. He knew to whom they used to belong: Chad Michael Murray._

_He looked up at Jared caught somewhere between shock and flattered. He supposed Chad may not be dead, that Jared just blinded him and left him maimed, but Jensen knew Jared wouldn’t have allowed him to live. The transgression was too great. It should scare him how easily Jared will kill for him, or because of him, but he doesn’t have it in him to be. With Jared he was undeniably safe. It was everyone else who should be afraid._

_“’And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee’ Matthew 5:29,” Jared quotes. “His eyes offended you, so I plucked them out.” He shrugged and smiled his dimpled but malicious grin, eyes glittering with cold delight. “It won’t come back on you, if that worries you. I took care of everything.”_

_Jensen wasn’t worried about that. He was a little miffed because now he had to find someone new to run the gambling rackets._

Jensen fell asleep thinking that if Jared would do that to someone who _looked_ at him, what in God’s name is he going to do to whoever has kidnapped him.


	4. Life Is Killing Me

4 – Life Is Killing Me

The trapdoor opens again an interminable time later. Jensen’s head snaps up. The light from above shoots daggers into his eyes. Above him a man stands looking down at him. Jensen is sure there is some heavy handed symbolism there. His heart thuds in his chest. The light coming from above isn’t as bright as before. He can only make out the shadow of a man, not overly tall, not overly short, not heavy or thin. Just…average. It could be any man. Jensen gazes up, holds a hand over his eyes to try and see as much as he can. A polite inquiry as to whom he has the pleasure of being in the company of dies on his lips.

“Hello, Pretty Jenny. My, how the mighty have fallen.”

Jensen thinks he might recognize the voice. He chafes at the old nickname but understands his captor is trying to get a rise out of him. Jensen will not rise to any bate put before him. Control. He is always in control of himself. He puts a polite smile on his face as he asks, “I think we know each other. So, how about you just tell me who you are and what you want.”

“Always so cool and polite. But that is something of your trademark. Yes, Pretty Jenny, we do know each other. Not as well as I would have liked but that will change.” His captor laughs. 

Jensen resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s obvious to Jensen his captor thinks of himself as some kind of melodramatic Bond villain. 

The light dims slightly and as Jensen’s eyes adjust he can almost make out who is looking down on him. His captor is male, looks to be average height and build, with short brown hair and a square jaw. 

“Remember me? Misha Collins.”

Misha Collins, yes Jensen remembers. He used to run the prostitution rackets but that was years ago. What the hell could Misha want by kidnapping him after all these years? How many had it been? He and Jared had been together at least five possibly six years when Jared made his first and only request of him. 

“Yes, I remember you,” Jensen replies. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

Collins dodges the question. “I always wondered what you looked like under your designer suits. Not bad,” Collins purrs. “Your stomach is a little soft, but, well, you’re not as young as you used to be.”

Jensen will not take the bait. He will not feel bad for his physique. He never had rock hard abs the way Jared does, but Jensen doesn’t have his love of working out either. Jared _loves_ this body, worships it nightly; Jared’s opinion and Jensen’s own are the only ones that matter. This is just another tactic to humiliate him. It will not work. He will not break. 

“Your cock is a little smaller than I expected.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. These attempts to goad and needle him are very juvenile. “Cut the bullshit and say what the fuck you want, Collins.” 

“I have what I want: you.”

The lights go out and Jensen hears Collins departing. He sighs in frustration. Collins is going to drag this out. He thinks he holds all the cards. Jensen supposes he can afford to let him think so for a little while longer. He sits back down, groping for his bottle of water. He locates it and shakes it, trying to figure how much of the tiny bottle he has left. He’s been rationing carefully, but still eight ounces doesn’t go very far. Jensen’s best guess about how long he’s been here is maybe three days now, possibly four. Misha must have him in some out of the way place if Jared hasn’t found him yet. And Jared will find him.

_Jensen was drifting toward sleep, Jared’s arms firmly around him, body still thrumming with pleasure from the orgasm Jared gave him._

_“This is kinda our anniversary,” Jared said, fingers stroking along Jensen’s treasure trail._

_“What?” Jensen replied with a little laugh. He hadn’t thought Jared the sentimental type._

_“Yeah. Six years since the first time we met.”_

_“To be fair that wouldn’t make this our anniversary. We didn’t get together until six months or so later.”_

_Jared laughed indulgently and squeezed Jensen briefly. “Don’t lie. You were mine the moment you laid eyes on me.”_

_“Christ, you’re arrogant,” Jensen muttered._

_“You didn’t say it was a lie though.”_

_Jared had him there. When Jared spoke again, his voice was hesitant, something so unfamiliar it put Jensen on alert._

_“Can I ask something of you?”_

_Jensen turned in Jared’s arms, brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes, eyes that appeared—Could it be?—a touch fearful? “You can. You know you can.”_

_“I want—,” He broke off abruptly and looked away. Jensen reached out and cupped Jared’s cheek, and, with gentle pressure, forced the other man to look at him. Their gazes locked and, yes, that was fear in Jared’s eyes; not only fear but uncertainty as well. He has never seen Jared like this, timid and upset, and all Jensen wanted was to take away the source._

_“Anything for you, Jared. It goes both ways. You know that. What do you want?” Jensen already knew whatever Jared asked for his answer would be yes. Not just because he loved this man more than the air he breathed, or the Macallan he drank, but because Jared had never before asked for anything. Whatever his request was was vitally important to him, Jensen will move heaven and earth to see that he got it._

_“The prostitution,” Jared’s eyes drifted away from Jensen’s, color rose in his cheeks. “I want you to put a stop to it.”_

_Of all the things Jensen had thought Jared would ask for, that wouldn’t have been on the list. Over the past six years Jared had made suggestions regarding certain aspects of Jensen’s business, both legal and illegal that had proven good and profitable, but this—eliminating an entire limb of his empire? And a profitable one at that—Jensen didn’t see sense in it._

_Jared pulled away from Jensen, pushed the covers off, and climbed out of bed. “Forget it. I didn’t mean it.” His quick movements and the stiff line of his spine proclaimed otherwise._

_Jensen followed him even before he was aware he’s doing it. “I didn’t even give you an answer yet.” He touched Jared’s shoulder, hurt when the other man wrenched himself away._

_“You did. I get it. It’s too much. I knew that when I asked. It was stupid.” He tossed his head and reached for his discarded slacks on the floor._

_“Jared, wait a damn minute here.” Jensen put some bass in his voice, not usually a tone he needed to employ when he and Jared were alone like this._

_Jared turned, his pants on one leg._

_“What you’re asking takes thought. There are logistics to deal with. Fall out to plan for. Least of which is what happens to my people who run it.”_

_Jared’s impassive mask was firmly in place as he pulled up his pants and fastened them. Jensen’s heart knocked in his chest. He cannot let Jared walk out of here. If he does something vital will be broken between them._

_“You’ll do what you did after the hijacking and move people around. People are loyal to you, they will do what you ask. Those that don’t? I’ll kill them.” Jared sighed and fixed Jensen with a pleading gaze. “I’m not asking you to eradicate hookin’ from all of Texas or even Dallas. Just your part in it. No one will take it as an indication of weakness on your part. Pretty Jenny is gone. I saw to that.” Jared’s eyes were iron as they bored into him. The intimation was there that, without Jared, Jensen wouldn’t be as powerful as he was. Jensen bristled at it; hated the part of him that thought Jared might be right. Jensen may be on the throne but sometimes Jensen thinks its Jared who really held the power._

_Jared turned and headed for the door. Jensen followed. He reached out, grabbed a broad shoulder, and turned Jared to face him. Jensen knew if he had been anyone else he would be either dead or bleeding out on the floor._

_“Jared, please.” He grasped his wrist tight. Jared could break his hold but Jensen knew that he wouldn’t. “Come back to bed. Don’t leave upset like this.”_ Don’t leave me _, he doesn’t say._

_Jared exhaled, shoulders still stiff, looked away from Jensen. Jensen caressed the racing pulse point on Jared’s wrist._

_“Jared…” Jensen couldn’t keep the waver out of his voice. Losing Jared would devastate him. He had never been loved by anyone the way Jared loved him. Jared was the first person to see him, and love him as he was. He didn’t want to use Jensen for his own ends, he didn’t see him as a pretty face, and he’s not afraid of Jensen’s lifestyle._

_Jared cracked and pulled Jensen into his arms. “Don’t. Shhh,” he said softly, breath warm against his neck where he placed a soft kiss. “Let’s go to bed.”_

_Jared released him, dropped his pants, and climbed back into bed. When Jensen joined him, he pulled Jensen close, wrapping him tight in his arms._

_“How come I’m the little spoon?” Jensen grumbled._

_“Because that’s the way I want it,” Jared replied._

_Jensen couldn’t stop the smile. “Yes, Sir.”_

_Jensen wasn’t sure what pulled him from sleep a few hours later. He heard a soft voice and slowly became aware that Jared was talking. As he woke up a little more he started to make sense of words spoken so softly he had to strain to hear them._

_“I never wanted to talk about this. Never wanted you to know. Never wanted anyone to know. You ‘sleep, Jense? Fuck, I hope so.” He could hear shame in Jared’s voice. He longed to turn and hold the man in his arms, tell him everything was okay, but Jared would never allow that. He would never want Jensen to see him so low, so vulnerable. Jensen kept himself relaxed his breathing deep and even, eyes closed and listened._

_“Petey went away for awhile. To prison. I had no one else. Nothing else. My old pickpocketing and lifting tricks weren’t working. Too many people recognized me. I wasn’t a cute kid anymore. I was sixteen and over six feet tall. I’da ended up in lock up if I got caught or back in the system. I had no choice. This guy. He said I could make some money.”_

_A bolt of shock went through Jensen as it registered._ Jared _had been a prostitute. That’s why his eyes always went dead whenever he saw Misha Collins, and that was why Jared was asking him to end the Organization’s involvement in the prostitution rackets. Jensen felt stupid for not putting it together before._

_“Guy was a fat sleazy fuck named Kurt Fuller. He’d take most of what I earned and beat the piss outta me for not making more. Without…without Petey I was lost. I hadn’t realized how much I had come to depend on him and his strength. He was my teacher and my protector then he was gone. Fuck I hated him, Jense; I hated Petey for being stupid enough to get caught and leaving me. I fucking hate myself that I was so weak.”_

_Jensen continued to feign sleep. He knew they would never talk about this, never even acknowledge it. Jared was baring his soul to Jensen right now and he wanted to let Jared now that Jensen would keep it safe. Jared pressed his face tight to Jensen’s neck and Jensen felt hot tears on his skin. It tested his resolve to keep up this charade but Jared would never accept comfort._

_“Petey got out. Found me. When he found out what I was doin’….” Jensen felt Jared shake his head and exhale in a sharp warm gust. “Petey had made some contacts in the joint. From there we started working for the loan shark collection crews under Kane. Then I met you, fell in love with you the moment I saw you. I thought I could deal with your prostitution racket. You run it a hell of a lot cleaner than anyone else, but I can’t deal anymore. It eats at me; reminds me of that time. I can’t move past it or forget it. Please do this for me, baby.”_

_The clock read 4:04 when Jared went silent, and, as was their ritual, slid from bed, dressed, and headed back to his own quarters on the second floor._

_Jensen hoped Jared felts some sort of relief after unburdening himself. Jensen has to put a stop to the prostitution rackets within his Organization and he has to do it ASAP. It was not even a question anymore. If doing that would give Jared some peace, Jensen would see that it was done and damn anyone who might question him for it. Then he’d look into Jared’s former pimp: Kurt Fuller who had preyed on a lost, desperate, and lonely Jared. The first step would be to see who, if anyone Fuller was affiliated with. It was no one in his Organization. He would check to see if Fuller was connected with the Italians. If he wasn’t—and, hell, even if he was—that guy was fucking dead._

_Jensen was standing behind his desk with Petrus at his left and Jared on his right. The door opened and the five men he summoned walked in. First was Misha Collins, the head of the Prost Rackets, and the men under him: Milo Ventimiglia, known as Milly V, a squirrely nervous looking young guy named Gabriel Tigerman, a robust black man excellently dressed in a pure white suit named Robert Wisdom nicknamed Bobby Wise, and a tall wiry man with a long face named Too-Tall Christopher Heyerdahl. He greeted them all with firm handshakes and motioned them to sit the chairs situated in front of his imposing desk._

_“Gentleman, I appreciate you coming so promptly. What I have to say really can’t wait.”_

_Jensen noticed the men’s gazes flicked to Jared and Petrus before they fixed on him. No doubt thinking about the Dinner Party and wondering if they are about to suffer a similar fate. Jensen had no desire for executions to take place today but knew if any of the men kicked up too much of a fuss Jared would more than likely end them. Jensen wouldn’t care either way except for the stains that would be left on the antique Turkish rug. He was mostly sure Jared wouldn’t do anything without Jensen’s go-ahead but this subject was especially personal to him and Jensen wouldn’t blame Jared if he did._

_“As of today we are out of the Prostitution racket.”_

_“What?” Misha Collins asked dismayed._

_“Shut it. Big Boss Man ain’t finished talking.” Jared said. Jensen knew it’s the only warning Jared would give. The next time Collins opened his mouth Jared_ would _execute him._

_Collins held out placating hands and remained silent. The other men appeared bemused. The door opened again and in walked his Inner Circle, Kane, Tommy, Jase, and Stevie. They closed the doors behind them and stood in front of them. The five pimps shifted in their seats._

_“You are to cease your operations. Immediately.”_

_The door opened again and in walked Julian Richings, a skeletally thin man in a neat slim-fitted black suit with black hair combed back from his high forehead. He headed up the law firm the Ackles Organization kept on retainer. He crossed the room, moving like a wraith, to stand at the edge of Jensen’s desk._

_“Now, I have ownership in a few legal and above board high-class escort services. What I am willing to do, is sell you my interest in those businesses. If you so wish, you can leave the Organization entirely and pursue other avenues of employment. If you choose to leave you will not receive any protection from police or other authorities my Organization provides. You cannot remain in my employ and dabble in hooking on the side. If you do, and make no mistake, I_ will _find out if you do, well then….” He motioned to Jared and Petrus and let the allusion hang there._

_“Excuse me, Mr. Ackles, sir,” the small man, Gabe, spoke, eyes ping-ponging from Jared to Petrus and back to Jensen then back to Jared and Petrus._

_“Yes, Mr. Tigerman?”_

_“I doubt I could afford to buy you out in the escort business, but I would like to remain, sir. I’m not sure what I can offer. I’ve dealt with the girls most of my time in your Organization.”_

_“Everyone can always offer something. By staying you offer your loyalty and I always value that. You work on the west side, correct?”_

_Gabe relaxed marginally at Jensen’s words. “Yes, sir.”_

_“Which means you work for Tommy Blue. Have a little talk with him. He’ll find a new position for you.”_

_“Sir,” Bobby Wise’s said in his deep mellow voice. “If we buy out your interest in an escort service would we still be in the Organization?”_

_“No,” Jensen said. “You’ll be on your own with your own business. The Ackles Organization is ceasing any and all prostitution activity, but you will remain in good standing with me. Should you ever need a favor of any kind, all you need do is ask._

_“I’m not going to dick around on price. The cost to buy out my interest in each escort service is a flat half-million. You can all buy in together, or if you are so inclined and able, you can buy one of the firms for yourself. Mr. Richings here will facilitate the business end of those transactions.”_

_“Sir, how many escort businesses are available for purchase?” Milly V. asked._

_“I have controlling interest in six throughout Texas. Any and all are available for you to purchase. I’m giving you five first crack at them. After this meeting adjourns I’ll entertain offers from others. I mean to have this accomplished as quick as possible. Make your decisions, gentlemen.”_

_Too-Tall Heyerdahl spoke first. “I would like to take you up on your offer, sir.”_

_“I would as well, Mr. Ackles,” Bobby Wise said_

_Julian opened his briefcase and pulled out contracts._

_“You just expect us to make a decision like this without any thought?” Misha said. “You’ve given us no warning or reason.”_

_Jensen had a moment where he was waiting for Jared to draw his gun from the holster strapped to his shoulder and internally lamented the stains that would soon be on his Turkish rug. His mother sent him that._

_“You address Mr. Ackles with respect,” this came from Petrus._

_From the corner of his eye Jensen saw Jared shifting. Jensen came from behind his desk, around the front and put himself between Jared and Misha. Jared wouldn’t pull his gun if Jensen was in the way. He heard Jared’s sharp exhalation._

_“The Big Boss Man doesn’t owe you or anyone else reason for his decisions,” Jared spat._

_“I’m sorry, sir,” Collins was quick to apologize. “I just…” He paused appearing to gather himself. “I think this is stupid and unfair. We do a good business, steady business, and make you a lot of money for you.”_

_“You can think whatever you will, Mr. Collins, but my decision has been made. Are you taking my offer or should I consider this your resignation?”_

_“Yeah. I was fine before I started working for you and I can be again.” Collins turned and crossed the room but was stopped short by the wall of Jensen’s Inner Circle. “You said we were allowed to leave.”_

_“You are,” Jensen said. “Just remember, you walk out of here you will be on your own. I have eyes and ears everywhere, so if I find out you’ve been blabbing to the authorities you can expect a little visit from my Enforcers.”_

_“Noted. Can I go now?”_

_Jensen nodded. Tommy Blue and Lazy Jase stepped aside and Misha strode out the door._

_Ultimately, Bobby Wise, Milly V, and Too-Tall each bought out Jensen’s interest in an escort service. Gabe took a legitimate job at Jensen’s oil company in the tech support division. The three remaining escort services he sold off to the Italians._

_Jensen hadn’t stopped at pulling the Ackles Organization out of the skin trade. He did Jared one better._

_In a situation similar to just a few short years ago, Jensen presented a small prettily wrapped package to Jared. The man took it, a smirk tilted up his lips, flashing a hint of those dimples. “It’s not my birthday or Christmas,” he said opening the package. The smirk turned into a full grin. He pulls off the top of the box and inside sat a heavy gold ring with a fat ruby in its center. He didn’t need to ask if Jared recognized the ring that used to belong to his former pimp. A quick investigation of Fuller turned up no association with the Italians. He had his own operation; it was seedy at best and hideously depraved at worst. The world and underworld were better off without him in it._

_Jensen watched as Jared’s throat worked as he swallowed. He gazes at Jensen with eyes that shimmered with a film of tears. It made Jensen’s chest tighten to see a man usually cold and unaffected struggling with emotions he had denied for over a decade. Jensen knew not to offer comfort. Jared would refuse and shut down. Jensen licked his lips and tried to formulate a response that would convey the depth of his love for this man._

_“I promised you anything and always keep my word.”_

_Jared dropped the box and lunged at Jensen. He wrapped his arms around so tightly around Jensen he could barely draw breath. Jared’s mouth covered Jensen’s, tongue thrusting into his mouth, a welcome invader. Jensen looped his arms around Jared’s neck and kissed him harder, sucking on his tongue, as he pulled Jared toward the bed._

_Later, he would tell Jared the whole story. How he tracked Fuller down. How Fuller screamed, cried, and begged for mercy, how Jensen cut the finger, along with the ring, off with a pair of pruning shears, not to mention other pieces of his anatomy before shoving said pieces down his throat and leaving him to choke on them. Jared would like that even more than the ring._

Jensen fell into a light doze, daydreaming about all the fun and interesting ways Jared will kill Misha when he finds him. His personal favorite is that Jared will see how long Misha can survive hooked up to IVs while Jared chops off one limb at a time. Jensen himself would love to help but he doesn’t feel very well. He’s hungry and his thirst is raging. He knows he’s already dehydrated. He’s stretched his little eight ounce bottle of water as far as he can. There’s only one swallow left, if that. He’s started suffering from muscle cramps. He gets up and walks around as much as he can, but he also discovered he gets dizzy and has to sit down. His stubble is filling out and itches like hell. When he’s not meditating on his own well being he’s worrying about Jared and the rest of his guys. How long has it been now? Five days? Six? It can’t be longer than that. Can it? Something serious must be going down if they haven’t found him yet. The fear gnawing at his guts almost makes him forget his hunger. 

“Aww, Sleeping Beauty.” 

The patronizing voice pulls Jensen from his happy daydreams. He gets to his feet, though the effort greatly taxes him. His quads threaten to cramp up on him and his head spins. Misha stands at the mouth of the pit with a steaming venti Starbucks coffee cup in hand. 

Jensen aches for a taste of dark bitter brew maybe with a shot of espresso to give it a little oomph. He almost moans at the thought but he can’t. Misha is fucking with him. Instead he falls back to his Ice Cold persona and stares up. 

“Nothing else to do with my time, so I was catching up on my sleep. I’ve been a very busy man for most of my life.”

“I’ve been busy, too,” Misha says cryptically. He takes a sip of his coffee. Jensen swallows convulsively, swears he can feel the burn off coffee on his tongue. 

“I’ve been busy building up everything you destroyed. I had a great setup! Then you had a fit of consciousness and destroyed everything I worked to build.”

“You didn’t build it. Neither did I. My grandfather built it. My father continued it, and I expanded it. You just profited from it,” Jensen corrects. 

Misha seethes above him and Jensen feels a little pleasure from that. Misha gestures with a hand and a moment later the giant shadow of a man appears to his right, tall and powerfully built. Jensen’s stomach drops. That giant shadow looks so similar is height and build to Petrus. It _can’t_ be Petrus. Cannot be. There are other tall muscular men out there and Petrus is his friend; Jared’s friend. The Big Man hands Misha something then melts back into the shadows. 

A moment later, Jensen realizes what the Big Man have Misha: a sandwich. Jensen’s stomach gives a low growl and his mouth waters. 

Misha unwraps his sandwich and takes a huge bite. “What I have now,” he says through a full mouth, “ _I have_ built through my own effort. My own Organization.” 

Jensen struggles to rein in his hunger and doubts. “Your own Organization,” he remarks flatly. He highly doubts Misha is capable of building an Organization like the Ackles’ in the few short years since he left Jensen’s employ. Misha has neither the intelligence nor connections to grow that big that fast. Jensen’s connections, forged almost a century ago when his grandfather started out as a bootlegger, wind through network of mayors, to the governor, and stretch all the way to fucking Washington to senators and congressmen.

“Yes. And I should tell you I don’t go by Misha anymore.” He takes another bite of his sandwich and chews. 

Jensen tries not to think about what kind of sandwich it is. He’d love a good BLT, heavy on the bacon, maybe a little grease soaked into the bread for extra flavor. 

“I’ve reclaimed my birth name: Dmitri Krushnic and reconnected with my marginalized Russian brethren.”

_Russian. Petrus is Russian. At least on his father’s side._ Jensen ignores the slithery voice of doubt trying to creep in. 

Misha envisions himself as some kind of Russian mob boss. Good Lord it’s even more ridiculous than Jensen had supposed. He’s just a goddamn up jumped pimp. He’s probably surrounded himself with thugs, unintelligent thugs, promising them anything and everything to get them to follow him. 

“I’m very happy for you, Dmitri. Everyone needs to feel like they belong.” Jensen thinks back to those minor incursions on Ackles territory, he believes he has found out who was behind them. 

“You condescending prick,” Misha sneers. He wads his sandwich wrapper up and tosses it into Jensen’s pit. Jensen wants to fall on it and lick whatever crumbs might be hidden inside. “Still so high and mighty. I will break you.”

Jensen can’t help it. He busts out laughing. Who does Misha think he is Ivan fucking Drago? “I will break you”? Seriously?

“Laugh!” Misha shouts over Jensen’s laughter. He tosses the coffee cup into the pit in a burst of petulance. The cup explodes as it hits the bottom of the pit splattering coffee. Jensen struggles not to collapse and crawl around to lick up the little puddles of coffee. “Laugh all you want, Jenny. Would you like to know what’s in store for you?”

Jensen supposes this is where Collins is going to go full Bond villain and explain his grand plan. Jesus, he really is banal. Jensen waves a hand in a circular gesture, trying not to eye the coffee cup. “Oh, sure, by all means. Give me something to look forward to. Impart your grand plan to me.” He feels a bit dizzy and leans back against the wall of his pit, but plays it off casually by crossing his arms over his chest and right ankle over his left. 

“Oh, it is. You cut off my livelihood. Put me out of business. I’ve spent these years building it back up from nothing! Nothing! That alone should be testament to my genius! But, oh, no. You, Pretty Jenny Ackles will be my crown jewel. I’m going to break through that Ice Cold exterior. I’m going to break you, and once I’ve done that, I’m gonna turn you out. It won’t be my elite clientele you’ll service. It will be the dregs. Pretty Jenny Ackles who thinks he’s too good for the whoring business, a whore himself, and a cheap one at that! Poetic Justice!”

Jensen throws back his head and laughs. Laughs and laughs, deep within his belly, laughs so hard tears leak from his eyes. The whole idea reeks of delusions of grandeur. At the core of everything Misha is just a disgruntled former employee. It’s all too fucking funny. 

High above Misha fumes, shaking with his fury. “Shut up!”

The juvenile response sends Jensen into another gale of laughter. 

“I’ve got you and soon I’m going to take everything else you have!”

Jensen gets his laughter under control and considers the man holding him prisoner. “You can try,” Jensen challenges, voice icy and dangerous. “You think my men would follow you? Men I’ve known for half my life? Men whose loyalty to me is unfailing, cultivated over decades and battle tested? Can you say the same about your own men? How long have the goons you’ve recruited worked for you? Three years? Probably less. Do you know anything about them? You think they are loyal to you? Would they walk through fire for you?” Jensen has at least six men he can count on who will do that for him, and one who would do anything _**anything**_ for him. 

“Maybe not but they’ll kill for me…and have. That’s all I need them to do.” Jensen makes out a flash of white teeth. 

He knows bait when he hears it, he will not rise to it, though his heart aches, wondering if Jared is alive. If the rest of his guys are okay: Kane, Tommy Blue, Stevie and Lazy Jase. They have to be okay. They will come for him. If there is breath in their bodies they will come. And Jared, fucking Jared would rise from the dead to help Jensen. Jensen has to believe in that, if nothing else. 

“I’ve been in this business a lot of years, Collins. Let me give you some wisdom, as you seem sorely lacking in that department. Loyalty cannot be bought. Neither can respect. I doubt you have either from the men working for you.”

Collins goes eerily silent, staring down at him. Jensen stands tall, keeping his head up and back straight, staring right back even though he feels like he’s going to fall down. This little exchange has exhausted him and his head spins but he cannot show weakness. If he even gives an inch Collins will know he’s gaining ground. 

“I actually believe you,” Collins says softly, a touch bewildered and disappointed. “You won’t break.” He seems to rally then, stiffening his spine. Jensen knows artifice when he sees it. “I don’t really give a good goddamn. I’ll leave you to die down there and take over your Organization that way. I’ll leave your fucking body on the lawn of your compound. We’ll find out how loyal your soldiers are to you when you’re dead! Either way I win!”

With hunger crawling around in his belly like a wild rat, Jensen wishes he hadn’t stepped between Misha and Jared all those years ago.


	5. 5 - September Sun

5 – September Sun

When the light went out and the trapdoor came down with a resounding and very final clang Jensen groped around desperately for the sandwich wrapper and coffee cup. He grasps the wadded up sandwich wrapper with shaking hands and salivates. He does his best to try to open the tightly wadded sandwich wrapper without losing any precious crumbs that might be inside. The wrapper feels greasy and flimsy something from a fast food place probably. He brings it to his mouth and licks it, hoping for a little crumb of bread or smear of mayonnaise. Anything. There is nothing. His shoulders slump. He gropes around for the coffee cup, locates it, and, again, nothing. Not even a drop, only the delicious haunting smell of coffee. 

He sank back against the wall of the pit, scrubbed his hands through his greasy-feeling hair and comes very close to crying.

How long has it been? He doesn’t know. It feels like a week possibly more. Where can Jared and his men be? He’s fucking helpless down here. He’s covered in grime and stale old sweat. The faintly ammoniaish stench of piss from the bucket makes his head feel swimmy. Or maybe that’s the starvation and dehydration. He’s not even so much worried about himself as he is Jared and his Inner Circle. They wouldn’t give him up for dead. He’s underestimated Misha. He planned this out and has covered his tracks and its taking his guys longer than he thought for them to pick up Misha’s trail. Hell, for all Jensen knows he may not even be in Texas anymore. He has no way of knowing how long they kept him unconscious until they put him down in this pit.

_What if someone in your Inner Circle is sabotaging them? A certain Big Man for instance,_ an insidious voice whispers in the back of his mind. 

No. 

_Think about it. Whoever took you knew exactly where to find you. Knew you would only be with Jared. Knew you would be at a hole in the wall place. And how did they know all that?_

_Someone close to you sold you out._

He will not believe it. Jensen has good relationships with all the guys in his Inner Circle. They are above reproach. He and Petrus have a good relationship and would have regular discussions about religion, literature, history. The dude was intelligent but without Jared’s undercurrent of cunning. He also enjoyed the little insights into Jared’s youth that Petrus slips in. No. Petrus who found a dirty skinny little kid living in a park and decided to take care of him would not betray Jensen. In betraying Jensen Petrus would be betraying Jared. 

_The entire third floor of the sprawling Greek-revival style mansion that made up the heart of the Ackles Organization compound was solely Jensen’s domain. It housed his bedroom, which included a sitting room and lux ensuite bathroom, as well as a billiards room and a large library. It was nearing one in the morning, Jared was asleep in Jensen’s bed, and Jensen was meandering down the hall, ass pleasantly sore from the good hard fuck Jared gave him, but stopped short when he saw a sliver of light coming from the library door. He was immediately on alert; no one, aside from himself and Jared, was ever supposed to be on this floor. He approached the cracked door stealthily, listening hard, but heard nothing. Maybe one of the cleaning staff left the light on after they finished tidying._

_Still cautious, Jensen pushed the door open on soundless well-oiled hinges. Inside he saw the tall and imposing figure of Petrus perusing the volumes on the shelves._

_“Mr. Ratajczyk,” Jensen slipped into his Big Boss Man voice, as Jared called it._

_Petrus turned “Sir.”_

_“You’ve been a resident of the compound for over a year. You know this floor is my personal living space. So what are you doing in here, Mr. Ratajczyk?”_

_Petrus bowed his head. “Jay said it’d be okay if I wanted something to read. That you wouldn’t mind.”_

_“Jared may be my Second in Command, but I still preside over everything._ Especially _my private spaces.” The words hung between them, Jensen pinned the giant of a man with his gaze. Jared was right, of course, that Jensen wouldn’t mind Petrus using the library, but he may need to remind Jared that his authority over Jensen ended outside of bed.  
“My apologies, sir.” Petrus moved to depart_

_Jensen held up a hand to stay him. “Ask me first, Petrus. Not Jared. Do me that courtesy.”_

_“Yes, sir. I apologize,” the big man said chastened._

_Jensen nodded, accepting his apology. He turned to the floor to ceiling shelves. “My father assembled the library and I’ve added on to it. What do you like to read, Petrus? You won’t find much in the way of mainstream popular fiction here. No Dean Kootnz or Stephen King I’m afraid. No Mario Puzo either.”_

_Jensen was curious about Petrus as a person. They rarely spent any time together; usually Jared or another member of his Inner Circle was around. He considered Petrus a friend and he likes to know his friends. Jensen crossed the room; he always felt positively child-sized when next to the six foot eight inch man, who despite his tremendous size came across as shy sometimes._

_Petrus plucked a volume from a shelf. He flashed the cover to Jensen:_ Crime and Punishment _by Feydor Dostoevsky. “This is good. Been awhile since I read it.”_

_Jensen extended a hand to indicate the well-appointed steel bar cart on the opposite side of the room and the plush wing back chairs situated by the French doors which lead out onto the veranda. “Can I offer you something to drink, Petrus?”_

_“Red wine?” Petrus responded, walking over to the chairs and lowering himself into one, seeming a little wary._

_“Of course,” Jensen said and poured him a glass of the Rothschild and himself two fingers of Macallan._

_He handed Petrus his glass and sat across from him, regarding him with curiosity. “I have to ask,” Jensen began. “You met Jared when you were sixteen, what made you look after a ten year old kid?”_

_Petrus flashed a fond smile. “He was a dirty little runt and had nobody. I’d always wanted a brother.”_

_“You left just home?”_

_“Yeah. I always felt like a burden on mah folks. They had five kids before me, all girls.”_

_“Big family. What happened to them?”_

_“Nothin’. They still live in the neighbahhood. I used t’ send ‘em a postcahd when I had a chance. Send ‘em lettas now that I’ve got a semi-permanent address.”_

_Jensen smiled at the thick Brooklyn accent, the deep voice, and the cadence with which Petrus spoke. “How’d you end up down here? Texas is a long way away from New York. In more ways than one.”_

_“I got kicked outta school. Or left. Depends on who ya ask. School was borin’ to me and the nuns were abusive. I hitched around New England for a bit. Then, thought I’d head west. Made it down heah, woahked on some ranches for a bit before movin’ on. Then I met Jay and stayed put. ”_

_“Catholic school then?”_

_“Yeah. My dad is Russian Orthodox Catholic, ma is Roman Catholic.”_

_“You prefer Russian literature because of your Russian heritage?” Jensen indicated the Dostoevsky volume in Petrus’ lap._

_“Paahtially. I like to read all kinds of things. Been awhile since I read this. Thought I’d see if it still makes me think the same things.”_

_“What did you think the first time you read that book?”_

_“That Raskolnikov was an idiot. He spends most of the book angstin’ ovah gettin’ caught instead of bein’ glad he didn’t. Then he turns himself in for a woman.”_

_A week or two later, after asking Jensen’s permission first, Petrus was in the library again. Jared was playing pool with Kane and Stevie Guitar. Jensen had had to get out of there or risk asking Jared to fuck him on the pool table. He’d already had the felt replaced three times. Jared knew Jensen couldn’t be in the billiards room with him and not pop wood._

_“Petrus, my friend,” Jensen greeted. “No interest in pool?”_

_“Not really. Pool was always Jay’s thing. He used to hustle for cash back in the day. That face of his suckered people in all the time. Not this mug,” Petrus indicated his heavy chiseled face with a sardonic smirk._

_“The usual?” Jensen asked, heading toward the bar cart to pour himself a Scotch._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Jensen nodded and prepared the drinks. “Your point of view on Raskolnikov changed?” He asked._

_“I still think he’s dumb for turning himself in. I don’t think, given my line of woahk, I’m eva gonna understand ‘im. Picked Moby Dick to read this time.”_

_It became a regular thing for them. A couple of times a month they would sit in the library and talk books, or philosophy, history, while Jared and a combination of Inner Circle guys played pool, poker, or darts._

_As Jensen entered the library he heard jeers from the billiards room, Jared’s voice commanding everyone to “pay the fuck up, assholes”. Petrus was sitting in one of the chairs, a glass of wine in his hand, and a wistful melancholy expression on his face._

_“Good evening, Petrus,” Jensen greeted, sitting in his usual seat and taking the glass of Scotch Petrus had ready for him. “Why so pensive?”_

_“You ever feel like you’re missing something, Mr. Ackles?” In the past few months Petrus had gone from only addressing Jensen as “sir” to “Mr. Ackles”; still formal and respectful but a little more familiar._

_Jensen took a moment to think about it. He had felt a little lost after Sterling broke up with him and when his father died, but Jared blasted into his life. After that everything seemed to come together. His businesses were doing well and he had the security that came from being loved and accepted in a way he never had before experienced._

_“After my father passed, I felt a little lost. We’d always been close, but no. I’m content.” He was really fucking happy actually. While Petrus was a friend he wasn’t the man Jensen was sharing his bed and life with and there must always be that distance between them. Hell, it was there between Jensen and Jared when they are anywhere but in private._

_“I thought if I got outta Brooklyn I’d be happy. Then it was strugglin’ to keep Jay and me fed and havin’ someplace to crash. Now, I have all that and moah but still feel like something is missing. Maybe it can’t be found, but I’m hopin’.”_

_They sat quietly for a few minutes, Jensen musing about Jared, Petrus pondering the book in his large hands. Jensen saw it is a copy of the Bible._

_“Mr. Ackles, can I ask you a personal question?” Petrus asked._

_“Of course, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer it, but you are always free to ask.”_

_“Are you a religious man?”_

_“Not really. I believe in something greater than myself, certainly, but is it like they say in the Bible?” Jensen indicated the Holy book in Petrus’ hand. “I doubt it. I doubt anyone as limited as a human can fathom what an omniscient entity like God really wants for us. Man has a way of corrupting and twisting things to suit their own ends. So, I don’t trust a book written by man.”_

_“You might be right about that, Mr. Ackles. I think growin’ up, goin’ to school with the nuns pullin’ my haiah and smacking my knuckles with the rulah for trivial kid shit—not to mention what goes on with priests—all that shit might have made me lose my faith. I’d like to find my way back. My own way.”_

_“A person’s relationship with God is a very personal and individual thing. If you don’t mind me saying so, Petrus, you strike me as a restless person. If finding your faith would give you some peace, I want that for you.”_

_Petrus smiled at him then, warm and hopeful. “You can just call me Petah, Mr. Ackles. Everyone else does.”_

_“All right. Peter.”_

_Jared and Jensen were making out in Jensen’s office. They should not be doing it, the door was not locked and the office was the one place where people were free to come and go, Jared’s mouth was so insistent on his, felt so good, so right even after all these years. Christ, ten years. Ten goddamned years. It seemed unreal that he and Jared could still have this level of passion between them. He had presented Jared with a gorgeous blue Rolex submariner for their tenth anniversary, which precipitated the make out session. In hindsight, it might have been better to wait to give it to him in a more private setting. But Jared has a fetish for watches and Jensen had been so excited to give it to him._

_“Jared. Jare—” Jensen broke off on a gasp as the taller man rubbed his aching cock through his slacks. “We shouldn’t do this here.”_

_“I’ve wanted to fuck you over this desk since the first time I saw you. God you were so fucking hot. So fucking classy, so fucking put together. I never thought you’d want a street rat like me. Know what I thought would happen when I came into your bedroom that first time?”_

_“I’d kill you?” Jensen asked running his fingers through Jared’s long hair._

_Jared chuckled and fixed Jensen with his intense eyes. “No, worse: that you’d tell me to get out.”_

_Jensen shook his head. “Never. I was yours the moment we met. You think I drop to my knees or call any man Sir?”_

_Jared growled and took Jensen’s mouth in a brutal kiss. “I’m gonna suck you dry and eat you out, get that sweet little hole all slick for me, then, I’m gonna fuck you within an inch of your life.”_

_Jensen shuddered all over as Jared dropped to his knees, nimble fingers made quick work of his button and zipper._

_Neither heard the door open and the first they noticed of Peter was the big man shoving Jared away from Jensen._

_Jared made some noise; a whine or a surprise exhalation. The next thing Jensen knew was Peter had fisted his massive hands in the lapels of Jensen’s suit and threw him up against a wall. The air whooshed from Jensen’s lungs. Peter glared at him; anger blazed in his grey green eyes. “You make him do this shit to you? You touch him? Turn him queeah?”_

_With an animalistic scream, Jared charged at Peter. He grabbed a handful of Peter’s long black hair, hauled him back, and punched him in the throat. For as big and powerful as Peter was he immediately went down, clutching his neck and gasping for breath. Jensen knew Peter was still breathing only because Jared allowed it. He could have easily killed him with that blow._

_“Don’t you fucking ever put your hands on him!” Jared’s voice was rolling thunder; the air around him crackled with electricity. His handsome face appeared almost bestial with contorted fury. Peter was gagging and coughing as he struggled to climb to his feet._

_Jensen felts as if he was suspended in time by the surrealness of it all. Peter and Jared, his most loyal and dedicated soldiers, coming to blows. A situation Jensen thought, up until this moment, would never, could never, happen; as if the sun would set in the east. It didn’t escape him that Peter wasn’t attempting to retaliate. He gazed at Jared as if he didn’t know him, a combination of shock and maybe even fear in his eyes._

_Jared took a step toward Peter who had made it to his feet. Jensen stepped smoothly between them. The wrathful expression melted from his face to one of concern and achingly naked adoration. He reached for Jensen, running his hands down his arms, caressed his face with his fingertips._

_“I’m fine,” Jensen said, voice pitched low. “Settle down. You hear me?” He laid a palm across Jared’s chest, and felt his heart racing. Jared’s eyes never strayed from Jensen’s face. He gave a nod before he turned his attention to Peter._

_Jared and Peter gazed at each other. Jensen knew both men well enough to realize there was some heavy, silent communication going on between them._

_Jared broke the silence first. “I love him, Petey.” Voice wavered a hint of a plea in it, for understanding, for forgiveness._

_“Love?” Peter’s expression was still one of bewildered revulsion._

_“More than anyone,” Jared said. His voice lost that pleading note and was pure steel. All three of them knew what Jared really said was “more than you.”_

_Peter moved as if to head to the door._

_“Stop,” Jensen ordered. Peter did but his shoulders and back were tense. Jensen wondered if he chafed at taking orders from a “queeah” now. “When I was a small child my mother was abducted and held hostage. Her captors wanted my father to secede control of his businesses to them for her release. They tried to use his love for her against him.” Jensen had already told Jared this story many years ago, when he insisted that they keep their relationship private. Jensen didn’t know or remember much about his mother’s kidnapping; only afterwards his parents fought and Donna decided to live in Switzerland. “Jared and I keep our relationship private for that reason. I cannot let you walk out of here if I think for one second you would divulge what you now know.”_

_He gazed over at his man. It took only an instant for Jared to understand what Jensen was thinking. Jared nodded. Peter’s eyes flicked rapidly between them; wounded disbelief let Jensen know that Peter understood what sentence Jared had passed on him._

_“You don’t like that Jared and I are a couple, fine. Are you really gonna let it interfere with your job?” Jensen hated that he had to ask; hated that their sexuality, something so private, even mattered. It had nothing to do with the Organization or business at all and definitely had nothing at all to do with Peter._

_“I’ll do my job. Sir.” His basso voice was reedy._

_“You swear to me, Peter. Swear what you know will not leave this room.”_

_Peter crossed himself. “I swear to the Holy Mother and all the Saints.”_

_Jared scoffed. Jensen shot him a warning chastising look. He knew from his and Peter’s private talks how important the big man’s faith was to him. For the past several years Peter had been regularly attending Mass and had seemed to be more at peace because of it. Jensen nodded, accepting his promise. Peter held Jared’s gaze, another silent conversation taking place between them, before he left._

Could that have been it? Could that have been the catalyst for Peter to betray him—if he had indeed betrayed him. Could Peter have been harboring loathing and nursing hatred for Jared and Jensen’s relationship for these many years? Maybe it conflicted with his faith and he decided to ally himself with Misha. Maybe Peter felt some kinship through their shared Russian heritage and allied with him because of that. What Jensen does know is that if Peter has cast his lot in with fellow “marginalized” Russian Misha Collins there is a very good chance Jensen might not get out of this.

Jensen is ripped from sleep with cramps in his calves. Christ, it hurts so badly! “Ergh!” Jensen cries punches ineffectually at the rock hard muscles, trying to get the cramp to ease up. “Stop! Just…just stop. Please.” He pants, feeling his eyes prick with tears. His voice is thin and his throat feels like he’s swallowed sand and crushed gravel. It hurts to swallow, not that he has any saliva to actually swallow.

Some indeterminable time later the cramps pass and Jensen falls back over, breathing hard. He is absolutely wrung out. He has never felt like this before. It looks like Misha is going to get what he wants. Jensen can feel himself breaking. He doesn’t feel hungry anymore. His stomach finally realized it was never gonna get anything in it and shut up. The thirst, however, is always there.

Worse case scenarios start to play out in Jensen’s mind. Jared’s dead being the worst of the worst. He cannot, will not, entertain that thought. To do so would be tantamount to giving up hope. Another scenario is either Jared or Peter got seriously injured and are unable to continue their hunt for Jensen’s whereabouts. Another idea, and this one rings truest to Jensen, is that Jared found Misha, and he either won’t tell where Jensen is, or killed him.

Jared may believe Jensen to be dead and has given up, or, and, dear god, Jensen’s insides freeze as the thought occurs to him. Maybe _Jared_ orchestrated all this, using Misha as a fall guy, and has taken over the Organization himself. _Gotti_. Jensen’s mind circles around to the Mafia Don who did something similar; took out a hit on his boss, Paul Castellano, then took over Castellano’s operations. Jared who so loves and looks up to those Mafiosos is absolutely capable of doing the same thing. _No_ , Jensen’s mind revolts. _Never_. Jared, for all his conniving and love for organized crime’s way of life, has never even hinted at wanting to be anything other than an Enforcer. Being Jensen’s lover, as well as his named successor, means he wields just as much power as Jensen. Hell would freeze over before Jared would betray him.

Jensen sleeps more often than not. He can feel his strength going. He was pretty lean and now when he runs his hands over his “soft” abdomen as Misha had commented on; it feels smaller. His lips are parched and cracked. When he licks them it makes a dry rasping sound. His tongue feels swollen. The reek of his own body odor and the piss and shit in the bucket sting his nose. He tried to stay as far away from it as he can but the odor is pervasive. He can’t remember the last time he needed to avail himself to his “bathroom”. He can’t remember a lot of things.

“Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, pickles, onion on a sesame seed bun!” Jensen sings before dissolving into giggles. He wonders if he might be going insane. 

He wants out of here. He just wants out. Needs to get out. He bangs weakly on the floor, trying to call out but his voice can’t escape his parched throat. 

_Please. Please. Let me out._

If ( _when_ , goddamn it) Jared finds him he wonders what shape he’s going to be in. 

How long has he been here? Weeks? It has to be. He can’t remember the last time the trapdoor opened. Or the last time he ate or had some water. Maybe Jared isn’t coming. Maybe…?

_Where am I? It’s all dark. Why’s it so dark? Where is Jared?_

He sleeps more often than anything anymore. There’s no reason to even be awake, and, frankly, it takes too much energy to open his eyes. 

_BANG_

Having lived so long in silence, except for his own rapidly deteriorating internal monologue, Jensen is confused by the noise. 

_Rat-a-tat-tat. rat-a-tat-tat. rat-a-tat-tat._

Jensen thinks he recognizes that sound but he can’t be sure anymore. 

_Wha?_

He supposed when Death comes it won’t come with a rat-a-tat-tat-ing sound. He thinks he should try to shout for help but can’t summon either the physical strength or the strength of will. Nothing matters anymore. 

_BOOM_

The very ground seems to quake beneath him. He thinks he might be in trouble. But he can’t really care. 

_rat-a-tat-tat rat-a-tat-tat rat-a-tat-tat rat-a-tat-tat_

Sounding louder and closer. He thinks he can hear shouting. 

Jensen covers his head. So much noise. He misses the quiet. 

Light blazes down on him. Jensen winces and curls into a tight ball. It hurts his eyes and makes his head feel like it is being split in two. 

“I found ‘im!” 

Jensen’s deteriorating mind tries to place the voice. He thinks he might recognize it. It’s so deep but shot through with urgency.

He moves his arm away from his eyes and forces them open, though the light feels like ice picks in his retinas. Above is a Big Man with a waterfall of ebony hair. Jensen knew someone like that once. Didn’t he? Yes. Pe…Pet… Peter. His name had been Peter. His heart hurts as the name surfaces from his confused mind. Why should remembering that name cause such pain? 

Peter. His friend Peter. A weak audible groan escapes him. Peter who he trusted as much as he trusted Jared had betrayed him, throwing in his lot with Misha fucking Collins and the rest of his Russian goons. Jensen’s mouth opens and closes, trying to find words to shout up and ask why, but his throat is so dry, and everything hurts, least of all his heart and pride for having been so foolish. 

“He’s heah!” the Big Man shouts. 

“Petey! Where?” 

Jensen’s heart jackrabbits in his chest. He knows that voice as well as his own. That was Jared’s voice, sounding as if he was on the frayed ends of madness. 

“Down herah! I see ‘im!”

“Is he alive?”

“Yeah, but he don’t look good, Jay.”

“Motherfucker!” Jared’s thunderous shout is enough to shake the building with all the ire contained in it. 

Jensen’s mind struggles to comprehend. Jared and Peter. Here together? Jared would never…. Then….

Jensen sees a sight he believed he would never see again. Jared. He’s holding a smoking Tommy gun and blood is splattered all over him, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and gore, eyes wide and manic, teeth exposed in a feral snarl.

He stands beside Peter and gazes down at Jensen. He reaches out and grips Peter’s bulging bicep, clinging like a child. “Are you sure he’s alive, Petey?” He sounds so little and scared. 

Jensen cannot imagine what he looks like, but Jared is here. Things are going to be okay. He sinks back into the blackness. 

The first thing he’s aware of is softness; he’s cradled by softness and warmth. Is he dead and in heaven floating on his own happy little cloud? No, that can’t be right because he has a _raging_ need to piss. He can’t remember the last time he needed to; the sensation is almost unfamiliar. The pressure in his bladder is so strong it makes him wince and groan. 

“Jense? You with me, baby?”

Jared’s voice, hoarse, as if he’s been screaming his lungs out. Bits and pieces of memory come back to Jensen; being hauled out of that pit, surrounded, hands on him, Jared shouting orders, but anything more defined than that is a lost cause.

He forces his eyes open and Jared is there, gaze laser-focused on him. Jared’s grip on his hand tightens so as to become almost painful. He glances around, realizes he’s in his own bedroom, though he is hooked up to an IV and what looks to be a heart monitor. 

“Jared,” Jensen says urgently as he struggles to sit up. He’s as weak as a new-born kitten but he’s got to get to the bathroom or he’s gonna piss everywhere. 

Jared’s face sharpens with tension. “Jense? What? What’s wrong, baby?”

“Bathroom. Please.”

Jared stands, turns, rifles through something that looks like a medical cart and turns back to Jensen, holding a plastic urinal bottle. Jensen wants to cringe but it’s just he and Jared now and there is nothing between them. He tries to lift his arm, but his muscles don’t want to cooperate and the IV lines pull and tug. The IV pump makes a shrill beeping noise. Jared presses a button on the pump to quiet it.

Then, he’s uncovering Jensen, pulling his cock out of his pajama bottoms, and guiding the tip into the bottle. “It’s okay. Do what you need to do.” His haggard face looks so open and tender. 

Jensen seems to piss forever and Christ it feels incredible. Once Jensen is done, Jared tucks him carefully back into his pajamas and covers him back up, then heads to the bathroom to dispose of everything. 

“Not surprised given the amount of fluids Doc Morgan has been pumping into you,” Jared says exiting the en suite. 

Jensen can’t imagine what he looks like, but Jared looks _terrible_. He’s got deep discolored hollows beneath his eyes, and a scraggly beard. He’s dropped some weight because his clothes, black t shirt and black jeans, aren’t fitting quite right. His color is awful and he looks as if he’s aged ten years. He sits heavily in the chair beside Jensen’s bed and takes his hand again. Jensen can see blood and dirt under and around his fingernails and he reeks of old stale sweat and blood.

“Ar—” the words get caught in his throat. 

Jared is action immediately, opening a bottle of water, and helping Jensen take a few refreshing sips. Manna from Heaven. He’ll never again take being able to have a drink of water for granted. Mouth and throat remoistened, Jensen asks his question. 

“Are you okay?” 

Jared’s hand tightens on his. “I am now.”

Jensen smiles and squeezes Jared’s hand back as hard as he can. “You don’t look it. Probably look worse ‘n me. I’m gonna assume because this is not a hospital I’m not dying.”

Jared’s already too pale cheeks lose what little color they have and his hand reflexively grips Jensen’s with bruising force. “No! Don’t say shit like that.” His grip loosens and he trails his fingers along Jensen’s forehead, down his cheeks. “Doc Morgan said you’re malnourished and dehydrated, but you’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” he says firmly, more for himself than for Jensen’s benefit, Jensen suspects. “He’s got ya on fluids and vitamins.” He indicates the clear bags hanging from the IV pole. “He hooked you up to a heart monitor because dehydration and starvation can fuck with your heart rhythms. How do you feel?”

Jensen takes an internal inventory. He’s tired, but not the bone-deep exhaustion he felt down in the pit. He’s weak but at least his muscles will try to cooperate with him without paralyzing cramps. He can think clearly and his hunger is back, but he needs to know what the fuck has been going on before he can eat. “I think I’m okay. How is everyone else?”

“Kane got shot in the shoulder. Doc Morgan patched him up. He’ll be fine. Lazy Jase took a bullet to the back, though. Doc Morgan couldn’t do enough for him here so he’s in a proper hospital. Latest update on him was he was out of surgery and in ICU in serious but stable condition. Those were all the major injuries. Tommy Blue, Mad Mike, and Stevie are kinda beat up. They came in to see you before going to the hospital to see Jase. You were still out.”

Jensen’s brow furrows. “Mad Mike?”

“Called him in for a bit because we thought the drug cartels were behind your disappearance.”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, it was—“

“Misha fucking Collins,” Jared spits, a thundercloud rolling across his face. 

“Hey,” Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand as hard as he can. “Calm down and tell me what happened. I remember we were out together. I went to piss then, nothing.”

“Right. I went to put on Seger for you. I saw you heading to the bathroom. You were gone for a bit, but I didn’t want to bother you if you were takin’ a dump, ya know? But then it got to be too long. So I went in to check on you and you and you….” Jared’s face crumples and tears streak down his pallid cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Jared sniffs and tosses his head to get his hair away from his face; his eyes burn with self-recrimination. “It’s not! I wasn’t doing my job and you got hurt. You coulda….”

“But I didn’t. I knew you’d come for me. And you did.”

Jared buries his head in Jensen’s arm. His wide shoulders shake with silent sobs. Jensen summons his strength, and raises a hand to pet Jared’s hair. It’s filthy; greasy and stringy. “Shhh. S’okay.” Jensen lets him cry it out, knowing the release will do him good. He murmurs soothing words and scratches Jared’s scalp.

“Fuck!” Jared says rising up, his face blotchy and tear stained. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you. You’re the one that was fucking held hostage down a goddamn well.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. We take care of each other, okay? You and me, Jare. Forever.”

Jared sniffs, wipes his eyes, and seems to collect himself. He takes Jensen’s hand again, thumb caressing the knuckles. 

“How long was I down there?” 

“Ten days. You were gone for ten days.”

Jesus. Ten Days? _Days_? It felt like years, especially toward the end.

“When I got to the bathroom, you were gone. All I found was a hypo. I rounded up the Inner Circle guys and we went to work. It wasn’t fuckin’ easy. Collins laid a lot of false trails, including ones to implicate the Italians, the Mexicans, and the Colombians in your abduction, like I said. It was so fuckin’ disorganized, either by design or because he and his guys were not professionals. That made shit more confusing. 

“Then we found out he had an insider,” Jared says, that murderous look sliding across his face once more. “Fuckin’ Pileggi.”

“What?” Jensen jolts at the mention of Mitch Pileggi, his long-time chauffeur. “ _Why_?”

“He was tired of being just a driver. Said he’d been loyal to your pop and you, but you both overlooked him. You started giving “all those young faggot punks” important positions. Collins promised to make him a big man in his operation if he would deliver you to him. He couldn’t wait to talk after I started in on him. 

“After Pileggi spilled his guts we went after Misha. He was where Pileggi said he would be. We got him and I started in on him. He was either tougher than I gave him credit for, or he was just that crazy. He wouldn’t talk. No matter what I did and I did a lot.” Jensen has seen Jared in action and knows Jared’s interrogation techniques are horrific and utterly without mercy. 

“He wasn’t tough or crazy. He had a certain low animal cunning,” Jensen says wisely. “He knew he was gonna die either way. Withholding my location from you was the best revenge he could hope to get. You were torturing him, but he was torturing you right back.”

Jared’s eyes go distant for a few moments, pondering over Jensen’s words, before he blinks and seems to come back to himself. “In the end we didn’t need him to talk. We were able to trace you to some property that Collins bought and work he had done on it. His guys were small fry and tried to hide the paper trail, but Aldis and Lindberg were able to cut through it.”

“Collins is a fucking megalomaniac. And he’s an idiot for trying to frame those who know how to make people disappear.”

Jared smiles, a chillingly evil smile, and Jensen can see the shadow of the monster that lurks behind those cat-like eyes and disarming dimples. “He’s not anything anymore.” Jensen takes comfort in the fact that Misha suffered tremendously, he hopes it was close to how Jensen suffered toward the end. He takes in the flat dead look to Jared’s eyes and knows it was probably worse. _Good_. 

“And those string of robberies and arsons in our territory for the last two or three years? Collins was behind those, too.”

“Small-time son of a bitch,” Jensen growled. What Jared was telling him was nothing more or less what he suspected. “You haven’t said anything about Peter. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, Petey’s fine. Seems a bit distracted to tell you the truth. I don’t think he liked some of the things I done.”

“You’ll always do what needs to be done without qualms. That’s why you’re Second.”

There is a soft cautious knock at the door. Jared looks at Jensen in askance. Jensen nods his consent. 

“Yeah. Come in,” Jared calls. 

Peter enters, looking no worse for wear, but Jensen observes bruised knuckles and a split lip. 

“Hey ya, Mr. Ackles. Good t’ see ya awake. How ya feelin’?”

“I’ve been better, Peter, but not too bad overall.”

“Good t’ heah it. I keep tellin’ that little prick he needs to eat, take a goddamn showah, and then get some fuckin’ sleep,” Pete inclines his head toward Jared. 

“Fuck off, Petey,” Jared says more out of habit than with any actual feeling.

“I’m sorry for disturbin’ ya, but I gotta talk to bot’a ya and it can’t wait anymoah.”

Jensen moves to sit up. Jared shoves some pillows behind Jensen’s back to help prop him up. 

“What goin’ on, Peter?” Jensen asks. 

Without preamble Peter informs, “I’m goin’ back to Brooklyn.”

“What?” Jensen says at the same time Jared says, “You can’t!” His already haggard face takes on an even more devastated expression. 

“Is it because of us? This?” Jensen indicates Jared’s hand in his. 

“I told Jay a long time ago. I don’t care about the gay shit. I don’t get it, but if you ain’t makin’ ‘im it ain’t my business.” He pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket. It’s dirty and looks to have been folded and unfolded many times over. “I got a lettah from one of my sistah’s. Our ma is sick. And it…it don’t look too good for ‘er. So, I’m gonna go home.”

“This is your home!” Jared says, He releases Jensen’s hand and stands up. 

“Jared.” Jensen says imperiously. 

“No!”

“Jay, I’m goin’,” Peter says, tone gentle but brooking no argument. “You don’t need me anymoah,” his eyes drift to Jensen then back to Jared. “You ain’t needed me in a long time. They need me theah.”

“But…I…You’re my brother.”

Peter gives a solemn nod. “I am. Don’t mattah wheah I am. That won’t change. I spent a lotta yeaahs runnin’, looking for somethin’. Maybe what I was lookin’ for was always in Brooklyn.” His expression is the one of pensive melancholy so familiar to Jensen from their evening talks.

“You can take the jet. I’ll call the pilot and have him get everything ready.”

“You’re just gonna let him leave!” Jared rails. Jensen can see the shimmer of tears in Jared’s eyes. His partner is overwrought emotionally and probably on the verge of collapse physically.

“Yes, I am,” Jensen says. “This is something he has to do and it isn’t up to me _or you_ to tell him otherwise. You’ll always have a place here, Peter.”

Jared makes a lost sounding little whimper. Jensen reaches out to take his hand. Jared shakes him off and it hurts Jensen more than he thought anything could. Peter steps up to Jared, Jensen thinks for a moment how weird it is that Jared could look small, he lays a big hand firm on one of Jared’s shoulders.

“Jay, eva since we was kids you wanted somethin’ like this, to be a gangstah,” Peter says with a fond eye roll. “Me? Nah. You got a good gig heah. You’ll be okay.”

Jared’s quiet for several seconds. He’s struggling to keep from crying. Jensen can see the shine in his eyes and the way his chin quivers. “Will you?” Jared asks.

“Ya know somethin’, I think I will.”

Jared nods his head, seeming resolute. “Okay. Go home to your mother, to Brooklyn.”

The tension in Peter’s big shoulders lessens. An expression of nostalgic fondness spreads across his face. “Yeah. It’ll be good to see my sistah’s again. Might even be nice to see some of the old guys again: Sal, Kenny, Josh, Johnny.”

“If there is any way I can help, special doctors or treatments for your mother, just name it.” Jensen extends his hand. Peter takes it and shakes it. 

“Thank you, Jensen.” Peter gives him a nod and a clap on the shoulder before heading to the door. He opens it to leave, bright sunshine pours in. Jensen missed it so much, how much he didn’t realize until now. “Now, Jay, get some goddamn fuckin’ sleep.”

Jared laughs as Peter is swallowed up by the light, quietly closing the door behind him. 

“Jared? Open the curtains for me, please.” Jared does as Jensen asks, moving very slowly now; Jensen knows what energy stores he’s been running on is thoroughly depleted. With the heavy navy blue drapes drawn back, sunlight and warmth fill the room. Maybe later he and Jared can sit out on the veranda, soak up the sunshine, and have a big meal. 

Moving carefully because of the IVs, Jensen pulls back the covers on Jared’s side of the bed. “Well, you heard what Pete said. In.”

Jared slumps, runs a hand through his hair. “Jense, baby, I’m dirty as hell and I stink. You really want me to get in there with you?”

Jensen gazes up at Jared, who appears as if he has been through absolute hell to get Jensen back. There was nowhere else he wants Jared to be, blood, dirt, sweat and all. “Yeah, I really do.”

Clumsily, Jared strips down to his boxerbriefs and all but falls into bed next to Jensen. His eyes are closed and he’s already breathing deeply as Jensen pulls the covers up over him. He kisses his forehead before getting comfortable himself. Finally home safe, with his man asleep beside him, Jensen sighs and stares out at the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> After a five year hiatus it feels incredible to have written and finished something! 
> 
> While I never promise anything, there is hope for a companion piece to this from Jared's POV. I just hope it wont take me another 5 years to write it. That doesn't seem to be the case as my Jared keeps babbling and I keep typing it all down. 
> 
> So, stay tuned and stay safe out there!


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